A Lesson in Restoration
by Amadaun
Summary: It's only a healing spell. It's only a quick lesson. What could possibly happen? After all, isn't Martin a priest? A story told from four different voices. Rated M for sexual content and mature themes.
1. Champion

**A/N: **Oblivion and its characters are copyright to Bethesda, I'm just borrowing them for a bit, and I promise to clean them off before I give them back.

**Warning: **Contents are hot, and may burn. Shake before opening. Batteries not included. The "M" warning is in this one for a reason, dear readers. Not at first, but it gets there. I'll warn you all again in the chapters where it matters (and get specific, yay!).

* * *

**- A Lesson in Restoration -**

"Teach me how to heal," I ask.

He looks up from his meal, brow creased. I don't think it will uncrease again. Not for a while. A long while. He's got a smear of soot over one cheekbone, and I think we both smell of burnt wood and dead scamps. I've got blood ground so deep under my fingernails I don't think it'll ever come out, but I didn't even have the strength to wash.

We've stopped at an inn on the way from Kvatch – what was left of Kvatch, I mean. I'm trying hard not to think about it. Unfortunately, I still wear the guard's uniform, and I've been fending off questions all day. Not that I have any answers. Neither does he.

I should take off the armor, but I can't. My head insists that it's protection against...against whatever's out there. I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. Even though now it's more like bait for people desperate for news of what happened, and is it really gone, and what was it like, and are more coming, and on, and on, and on.

I'm sick of it, and I insisted that we be allowed to eat in peace. Begged, more like it. Not much luck there. We ended up having our dinner up in an inn room, a wooden door between us and the prying eyes and flapping tongues. We eat together because we're half-afraid to be alone. Soup and bread. Neither of us is up for much more than that. Neither of us have eaten much.

"Heal? You know how to heal," he tells me. "I've seen you do it."

"Not well," I insist. "I need to get you back to the Priory in one piece. What happens if you get hurt, too hurt to heal? I'm no spell-slinger."

"You cast well enough for the road."

"But not for Daedra." If I'd known more spells, maybe…maybe I could have saved Menian. "Hedgewitch spells and wise woman herbs aren't going to help us here."

"And potions?"

"I only have a couple left. If I run out…" I trail off, looking expectantly at him. He doesn't want to teach me. He's tired. I'm tired. But it's important for both of us, and I tell him so.

He stares into his bowl of soup, stirring it slowly like he hopes that an answer will finally surface. I watch him. He's very tired. So tired that he's weaving a little in his seat. Gods, why hadn't I noticed? It was his city. His home. He was there through the whole thing, not just the end.

I wonder when he last slept. One day? Two? There are lines in his face, circles under his eyes. His shoulders are slumped. His lips are tight and pale. I suspect that the gray in his hair will only get grayer from here on out. Very deliberately, his spoon mashes a boiled chunk of potato into pulp.

"It's important," I insist again, though my voice trembles. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important."

"I know. But Restoration isn't my strength. I didn't learn it until recently. I don't know how much I'll be able to teach you."

I frown. "That's silly. Everyone knows that healing is what priests do." I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. His lips go even tighter. I don't really understand why. I apologize anyway.

He shakes his head, "No, it's not your fault. I used to…I used to be in the Mages Guild, studying Conjuration. I only know a few simple healing spells, likely not many more than you. We didn't get a great many injuries in Kvatch. The Arena there gave us the most, and even then, they have…they _had_ their own healers. I was rarely called to aid." He pauses, a slight spark of bitter humor suddenly flashing through the exhaustion. "I could call a Daedroth for you, though, if you like."

I force a laugh. "Gods no! I've had enough Daedra for now."

The spark dies and his face closes like a door, turning back to his soup. "Then I don't think I'll be of much help to you. Sorry."

"Do you know Convalescence?"

A hesitant nod.

"Good, I don't. Teach me that, then. I'll learn other ones later."

He shakes his head.

"Why not?" I demand, beginning to get annoyed at his excuses. "Don't you see how important this is? If you get hurt…"

"…your mission will have failed, a pity, find another heir," he finishes sharply for me. His lips tighten even further, going bloodless. He waves a hand at me, dismissing my shocked expression. "You know as well as I that I'm not the only one left with Septim blood – if that is even true. I simply happen to be the most convenient." I try to protest, and he waves that away as well. "I've seen adventurers before. They come…came into the chapel sometimes. Mostly, they're a self-centered lot, constantly on the quest to become a hero of some kind, with little or no care for any normal person who happens to be in their way. Did you ever question any of the little jobs you were given? Did you ever consider that maybe some people simply don't _want_ to be helped?"

I'm angry, furious. How do I explain why I need to do this? How do I tell him that I've never done anything honorable in my life, but for some reason I've found myself in this mess and now I want desperately for us all to make it out in one piece? How do I tell him there was something I saw in his father, something I see in him, and it makes me want to protect him? How do I tell him to shut up and this isn't some 'little job' and he could _die_?

"I'm no adventurer!" I snap, "I'm a normal person who was just in the wrong place when your damn idiot father decided to let the assassins kill him! He's dead because he decided to stop fighting! I'm no hero, either! Menian should be the hero, he wouldn't let me waste time helping him, even though he's…he's trapped…" My eyes are filling with tears and I swipe angrily at them. The last thing I need right now are more tears. "I didn't want any of this to happen. I just don't want us to die too."

He stands suddenly, pushing his bowl away, stalking stiff-shouldered over to the window. He's angry too. We're both too damn tired to be fighting like this. We shouldn't even be here. I should be waiting back in prison, counting the bricks to see if the number really was different from my usual cell and pulling faces at that nutty Dark Elf. Martin should be preaching or reading or whatever it is he does in his chapel. We shouldn't be in some tiny inn fighting over the best way to keep him alive. I shouldn't have to keep reminding him that there are a whole lot of people who want him dead. I should tell him I'm sorry.

"I apologize," he says.

I blink.

"I'm sorry that I lashed out at you. I – I should, I don't know, I suppose I should be better than this – taking my anger out on you after all you've done for us, simply because you're convenient. I do know this is important, and I do know you're right. It's just…in order to teach you to heal…well…I need an injury. I don't have the books I'd need to show you otherwise." He turns back to face me, running his hand through his hair and looking at me helplessly. "And Akatosh knows I've had my fill of injuries. I can't imagine _hoping_ a traveler should come wandering in with a broken leg, just so you can learn how to cast a spell correctly."

"Oh," I say. "An injury." Is that all? I wish I'd asked back in Kvatch. Or watched him a little closer when he'd insisted on healing the guards.

An idea comes to me. I stand up and get my pack from the corner of the room. He watches me, looking confused, as I dig around until I pull out a dagger. I tug at the chainmail covering my left arm and manage to pull it and the padding underneath back a bit. It's not hard, really. The Captain's armor is pretty big on me, but I'm not one to turn down free chainmail, even if it _did_ belong to a guard.

He doesn't quite manage to grab my wrist before I run the dagger down the back of my forearm.

"What the – what are you _doing?"_ He looks shocked. Understandably. But it doesn't really matter. I have plenty of scars already. One more won't hurt.

"I need to learn. You said you needed an injury. It doesn't hurt that much."

"I – You – I didn't mean – you're crazy!" He's really upset with me now.

"It doesn't hurt that much. It's su-super-" I screw up my face, trying to remember the word.

"Superficial," he says, trying to sound calm again. He's examining my arm now, his fingers digging into my wrist so hard he leaves white fingerprints. He notices and relaxes with obvious effort. His forehead is still creased with worry, though. Probably anger too, now. "You're a little idiot," he tells me. "But now I'll have to give you your way." I nod, feeling pleased with myself. Until he glares at me and squeezes my wrist again. Hard. He's really strong. "Don't you dare do this again," he warns. "Ever."

I nod again.

"You must promise me," he insists. "If you believe me to be the Emperor's heir, you must promise, and keep your promise."

An easy promise. Even ignoring the fact that stabbing myself isn't a regular habit of mine, I don't really care if he's Septim blood. The Emperor's always been a far off figure to me. Protecting him doesn't mean I have to swear anything to him. Just get him safely to Jauffre, get some coin in my pocket, and I'm done, right?

I think he can tell what I'm thinking. His blue eyes hold me. The glib reply dies on my lips. This is important too. What good is a wounded bodyguard? I duck my head, feeling ashamed. He didn't really need this on top of everything else.

"I promise." I think I mean it.

"Good." His hands are gentle again. He places fingers on either side of the wound and spreads it out. I make a hissing noise when air hits it. Blood runs down to the crook of my elbow. "I should wash it out," he says. "Most people don't realize what they're healing into the wound when they cast the spell. Dirt, poisons, sometimes worse. I've seen people with arrowheads healed into their bodies. If you can, wash out the wound. That is your first lesson."

The water from the washbasin is cold and it stings. I yelp. My blood runs down my arm with the water in lacy red patterns. He dabs at it with the cloth. Some of it still drips onto the floor and sinks into the wood. "It's actually harder to heal other people," he tells me. "You have to want the spell to succeed. When it's your blood, you will always want the spell to succeed. Beyond that, it is simply a matter of concentration. You merely need to convince the flesh to speed up a natural process. That is why Restoration is the easiest school to start in."

"Good," I say, still staring at my arm. "I'm not very good at magic." I only really know enough spells to crack a lock and cloak myself in darkness. Those were hammered into me for years. Restoration was secondary, with the reasoning being if I actually screwed up enough to need to heal myself, no one wanted me back anyway. Being arrested was normal. Being stupid enough to get yourself shot or stabbed was…well…stupid.

My arm is dry now, though the blood is not. It's still flowing. He rests his fingertips at my wrist, at the beginning of the wound. "Watch," he orders. I do.

It's different from when I heal myself. Very different. My spells warm my skin for an instant. Sometimes they even hurt as I clumsily attempt to close my wounds. But his spell… For the first time, I feel that the blue light fills me completely, like a cresting wave, until it spills out of me to tingle all the way down my skin. I dare not breathe and break the spell, only let my eyes fall shut as it fills me.

"Open your eyes," he tells me. "I can't teach you if you don't watch." I force myself to obey. Watching my flesh knit back together is fascinating, but disturbing. "I'm doing this slowly, for your benefit. You will likely heal slowly at first as well. You will soon become more proficient with the spell, with practice." He laughs bitterly. "I pray you won't get a chance to practice."

His fingers move slowly down my arm, burning with a soothing flame. I sigh. The light still fills me. It's wonderfully warm. I could sit here like this forever. Then he stops, and the warmth leaves me. I can't help but shudder. The room is ice-cold in comparison. My cut is still partly open, and the pain comes back as his fingers leave my skin.

"Your turn."

"What?" I'm a little befuddled, staring at my arm like it belongs to someone else. My body feels like I've just woken up from the most wonderful dream, only to discover I'm sleeping outside in the rain. I'm unwilling to let go of the memory of the warmth and the light.

"You try now." He shifts so that he holds my wrist lightly between thumb and forefinger. "Your mind should have caught on. And Convalescence isn't much different from the spell you already know, simply stronger, so it will work on others."

I try to call up my magicka. It works – to a point. I will my flesh to heal and it does. Starting so slowly I can barely see any change. But it doesn't feel right. It works, but it's not _right_. My feeble light gutters and dies, and I'm left staring at my arm in dismay. "I can't do it," I whine. "It's not working."

He lays his hand over mine. It's gentle, but I can feel his tension, his annoyance. At me, at himself, and at the world. "It's the first time," he tells me. "You can't expect it to go smoothly. It might hurt a little; and it will be difficult, perhaps for a while. But then you will feel it – try to find that spark and carefully coax it until it swells at your command. Picture it. Picture your hand cupping it. Now gently, gently pull towards yourself." His hand moves slowly over mine, drawing my fingers across my arm. "Yes, like that. Now – from your hands into your body. Push it in deeply. Let it fill you. Yes. Exactly."

My cheeks are hot with blood. I'm not sure why. My spell sputters and wavers even more than before. If it weren't for his hands on my wrists, I'd give up. Despite my divided attention, the wound finally closes and I all but sag in relief. I secretly suspect that some small part of the light was his, but I know better than to say so.

I'm suddenly exhausted and my head slumps against his arm. The rough cloth of his robes scratch my face and I jerk back up, blushing. He laughs quietly, "You do need practice. Sleep now, my friend. I will teach you more on the morrow."

He stands and picks up his dinner from the table. He nods at me as he leaves, closing the door behind him. When he's gone, I think it feels a little colder in the room. I stare down at the drops of blood on the floor and tell myself I'm being silly. I'm tired. My mind is playing tricks on me.

I'm barely able to undo the buckles holding my armor on. The little spell took all the rest of my strength to cast. He's right – I need to practice. What good would it be to heal him and then fall fast asleep right afterwards? At least on the field I won't have him holding my hand and whispering completely innocent instructions that nevertheless make my cheeks burn and my stomach clench. I'll be able to concentrate completely on the casting.

Damn.

* * *


	2. Baurus

Of all the people I expected to meet at Luther Broad's, it wasn't the girl from the prison. I'd been hoping Jauffre would send Achille, or maybe even Captain Steffan. After all, the message I sent used every possible code word for "Trouble. Come now." But instead, he sends me the little girl. It takes all of my willpower to not stare at her in dismay. She skulks her way into the boarding house like the thief that she used to be, sees me, and makes a face.

When she sits down beside me, Luther recognizes her and waves a finger in her direction. "Now don't you be making off with this gentleman's coinpurse. I've got my eye on you."

She responds with a shockingly crass suggestion of what he can do with himself and the warhammer that he always carries around. Behind the bar, Winson chuckles and then tries to silence himself under Luther's glare. I feel a grin trying to sneak out onto my lips.

She has to be the strangest girl I've ever met. Ever since the night beneath the Imperial Prison, when she threw a bone at me. I think she thought the whole thing was just a big joke when I told her to stand over by the window. Just a joke. Gods, if only it was. But even now, she's looking at me as though she's expecting me to say, "Yeah, pulled a fast one there, huh?"

I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. Maybe I'm just assuming things. Maybe this is just a coincidence. Maybe there's a completely non-Blades reason she's –

Hey! That's my sweetroll she just filched!

Instinctively, I try to grab it back and she shoves the whole thing in her mouth in one go. My own mouth drops open. "_Meimqu_," she says, eyes sparkling mischievously over her stuffed, crumb-covered cheeks. She reaches for my mug and I yank it out of the way. She pouts. Good Gods. What is she, twelve?

As she struggles to chew, I murmur, "Jauffre send you?" She nods. I think. She could be choking, too. Great. "Don't look at me. Don't say a word." As though she even could, right now. "I'm being followed. The man in the corner. No, _don't_ look. I'm going to get up and when he follows me, you follow him. Got it?"

She rolls her eyes, swallows, and holds a hand out to Luther. "Napkin?" she asks stickily.

I am going to die.

Well, no turning back now. No matter what else happens, I want another crack at these bastards. Taking advantage of the squabble going on between Luther and the girl, I head down to the basement. Only seconds after the door closes behind me, I hear it open again. The footsteps on the stairs are too heavy to be hers, and too slow to be Luther or Winson. I press my back against the wall and draw my katana. Never heard the door open again, so more likely than not, I'm on my own. Over the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears I hear the horribly familiar noise of bound armor being summoned. _Come on…just a few more steps…let me stab you, you bastard…_

He just about walks right into me. I see the whites of his eyes flash beneath the intricate helm. His mace comes crashing down against my katana with an ear-piercing screech of metal. I stagger back. Damn! He's stronger than he looked. But then, he's fighting with the strength of a fanatic. In close quarters. And the light's so bad in here – what was I thinking? _You weren't thinking, Baurus. You just wanted a fight. Well, now you've got one. Hope it's not your last. _

Only two steps until my back is against the wall again. Another swing. Only one…

A movement behind him catches my eye and I duck almost without knowing why. Good thing, though, because the little thief girl just smashed a bottle of Luther's wine over the man's head. He yells and swings wildly behind him. I wince. From the smell, it was the cheap, eye-watering stuff, too.

Despite it, he's going for me again. And he's mad. Lucky for me, he's missing just about every swing now because of the wine running over his helm and into his eyes. It gives me a chance to try to come up with a plan. Okay, disarming doesn't work well with summoned weapons…the quarters are too close for a good swing, anyway…his face is almost completely enclosed…I'll have to hit him hard to make much of an impact…just like the Imperial Prison, only I've got the girl to watch my back instead of Glenroy, Talos keep him.

Catching his mace on the flat of my katana, I twist both sharply. His wrist resists me, then gives with a sharp snap. Spinning the blade around, I slam the hilt between his eyes. Off-balance and unable to hold his mace, he staggers back and I swing up at his neck with all my strength. He stiffens. His armor dissolves back into the red mist it came from. He crashes to the ground, head half-severed and a dagger buried hilt-deep in his lower back.

With a deep sigh, I lean back against the wall. Gods…that was closer than I'd have liked it to be. And it looks like the girl got in another shot of her own. Though she doesn't look too happy about it.

As I watch, she yanks her dagger out with a quick movement and turns on me. "What is the _matter_ with you people? 'Stay out of the way.' 'Don't talk to me now.' 'Leave that here with me, oh whoops, looks like it got stolen after all!' If you don't trust me so much, why do you keep asking me to do things?" She notices my gaze on her dagger and her scowl deepens. "So I stabbed him in the back, so what? He was one of _them_, right? What was I supposed to do, tap him on the shoulder and say, 'So sorry, but in the interests of fair play, would you mind turning around for a moment so I can stick you proper-like?'"

Her imitation of what she imagines to be a noble accent sounds so much like Jauffre that I start to laugh.

"What?" she demands.

"Nothing, I just - " I start to laugh again. "The mental image. The way you sound. I keep seeing Jauffre with a mouth full of sweetroll."

As soon as I say it, I remember exactly what "sweetroll" can mean in street cant and completely double over. She blinks at me, turns red, and starts to giggle helplessly. Soon, she's laughing as hard as I am. The more sober part of my mind hopes no one comes downstairs to see two Blades laughing hysterically over a corpse. It'd be even worse if they asked why. I'm almost certain she'd tell them.

"We – we'd better – heheheh…" I can't even get the words out. "That was – heh – the bottle of wine…"

She flashes a lopsided smile. "Didn't any of you Blades learn how to – heehee – fight dirty?"

"Can't say I did. I'll have to ask the Grandmaster about it." I hold up my hand as though I were posting a bill on the wall. "I can see it now – Special Blades training: How to bite, scratch, and hold your own in a bar fight. Heheheh."

"Don't laugh, I bet I could kick your ass in a bar fight any day." She postures dramatically, then all but deflates with a sigh. "I guess we'd better check him over now, right?"

We stare at each other. "Well?" I ask.

She makes a face. "Like hell I'm touching him. You made most of the mess, you go through his pockets."

I roll my eyes and nudge the corpse over with my foot, just to double-check which one he was. The head lolls listlessly to one side, bent at an angle to make the stomach turn, and the girl sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.

"God's Blood! It's old Astav!"

"You know him?"

She nibbles nervously at her thumb, "Not really. Just see him in the streets. Kept to himself, you know? Piece of work. Ooooh…Armand'll have kittens over this one!"

_Ah, so she is in the guild_. "Armand Cristophe?"

I watch with amusement as she goes stark white. "H-how do you know about _that?_"

"I'm a Blade. We're more than just bodyguards. It's our job to know things, and we know about the Thieves Guild." I shrug. "Sometimes they even do jobs for us. Out of curiosity, what do you mean by 'this one?'"

The paleness in her cheeks is replaced by a quick flush. "I'm not saying."

Burglary gone wrong? I find myself doubting she's in the Brotherhood too. Even if she was the type, the Gray Fox doesn't put up with that kind of thing. Not for long anyway. "Ah, well…none of my business, I suppose."

"Damn straight it isn't." She shifts uncomfortably, then flashes me a cheeky smile. "But look at you, getting caught by an old man!"

"I guess I wasn't quite as sneaky as I thought I was."

She leans over with a mischievous look in her eye and flicks her finger against the hilt of my katana. "This might have had something to do with it. You don't see many of them around town." Then she shrugs, like she's about to say more, but winces instead. "Ow!"

We both look at her shoulder and at the dark stain on the fabric of her shirt. "Well, I'll be," she says, in honest surprise. "When did that happen?"

She pokes it a couple of times before I slap her hand away. "Don't pick at it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know…" She jabs at the air with the red-tipped finger. "Mr. Healer, it hurts when I do this! Poke poke poke poke…" She laughs and winces again. "Does sting something fierce now."

"I can heal," I offer. "I'll admit that I'm not very good at it, but I can cast a bit."

"So can I, but I'm not so good either." She looks dubiously at the stain. "I-I really ought to clean it out. That's what Martin says I should do."

"Martin?"

"Oh! Didn't I say?" She's not paying very close attention, still studying her wound with intent curiosity, "He's the other son the Emperor talked about. The heir."

"He lives? A Septim lives?" I grab her arm in my excitement and she yelps.

"Hey! Arm! Bleeding!"

"Oh," I release her and she makes a face at me. "I'm sorry. Here, let me take a look at it, and you can tell me what's been going on."

She scowls, but she turns towards me anyway. I pull the collar of her shirt to the side. It isn't deep, as I had feared. Instead, it seems to be little more than a bruise, with blood slowly seeping out of a shallow cut. Sharp as the spikes on those maces can be, looks like it only nicked her – thank the Gods, or she'd have a crushed shoulder. It's probably only bleeding as hard as it is because I pulled on her arm. "Looks like you won't have to wash it out after all. It's just a scrape."

"You're sure?" She's craning her head to try and get a good look at her own shoulder. The result is reminiscent of a near-sighted scholar trying to read fine print. Her eyes cross from the effort. "Martin said - "

"Is Martin a healer?"

"No, he's a… " she pauses, frowning a little. "He's a priest."

"Really?" I start casting while she's distracted. "Where from?"

"Kvatch," she says shortly.

"Oh." My spell falters for a second. "Oh, Talos…"

"Yeah…That's what I said. He's a little shocky still, at least when I left. Or maybe he's always like that. Priests are a weird bunch."

"So the Emperor's heir is…weird?" I don't think she noticed the sarcasm.

"Well, yeah, a little. Jauffre and I got him up to the temple place, and boom," she gestures with her free arm, "he goes straight into the library. I haven't seen him with his nose outside of a book since then."

"Come now, just because you don't read…"

"I can read!" She glares at me. "What do you take me for – a lackwit?"

"Whoa!" I hold my hands up in front of me. "It was a joke, I swear. Your arm's done, by the way."

"Wha -? Oh. Hmph." She wiggles the shoulder.

"Hmph?" I ask. "Still hurt?"

"Oh, it's fine. I was just…when Martin…I mean…" She blushes a little and looks away. "Never mind. It's nothing."

I have to laugh at the way she's acting. Martin this, Martin that… She's either a Blade at heart or a young girl with a crush. At any rate, she's latched right on to this man. Good. He'll need such loyalty in the coming days.


	3. Martin

"You sent her to their headquarters _alone?_"

Looking up from my book, I wince. Jauffre's been in a state ever since the Redguard Blade returned by himself, a barely-healed gash across his back. From what I can hear – and most of the Temple can hear – the man managed to break every rule of the Blades, beginning with going in without a plan, and ending with sending a complete amateur to the headquarters of the Mythic Dawn to retrieve the Amulet of Kings.

And then there's the problem of the girl. As near as I can tell, Jauffre doesn't trust her, more than anything else. I suppose it does make sense. She is an outsider in all this. But then…so am I. And I should be trusted less than she. She never worshiped Daedra – she's far too frightened by the creatures and their magic.

I saw her after the end of the siege, leaning against a tree and looking ill with fear, wiping her hands on the scorched grass, shuddering like a leaf and crying. Captain Matius offered her his own armor, and she'd clung to it like a child with her blanket until her tremors stopped.

No – she isn't a Daedra worshipper. She's just a child caught up in all this, fighting for her life and mine.

Whereas I…well. I shouldn't think on those days. Not now. It's not something to be brought up now. The men and women in this temple are already only half-certain they trust me. If they don't know, I will not tell them. Not of my past, nor my knowledge, nor of my particular habits.

Perhaps I should talk to Jauffre about the girl. Tell him of what she did for Kvatch. Tell him I trust her. Tell him she's sworn herself to me, not to him. Out of all the Blades, she's the only one who really has. They bow to me and turn to Jauffre for their orders. Yes, I'm here to save them, but in no way am I to be allowed to command them. Except for her. I think she might do anything I asked her.

I've been turning pages without really seeing them for a while now. This shouldn't worry me. I've left that part of my life –

No, I never left it behind. It's always there. Not thinking on those days only brings them closer to the front of my mind.

I almost feel sorry for those I led to the Chapel. I could do it because I _knew_ the Daedra. I knew how they would react, I knew how to intimidate and escape them. I knew the wards to guard the broken building. None saw me cutting my fingers, using my blood to trace Daedric signs in the dim corners and behind the altars. Not one seemed to wonder why the doors didn't have to be barred, or why nothing scurried up the sides and through the hole where the steeple fell.

It had nothing to do with being a priest of Akatosh. What would they think if they knew that?

"Enough, Baurus! Not another word!" The door from the barracks bangs open and Jauffre storms out, the young Redguard on his heels. He pulls up short when he sees me, face clouding. "My apologies, your Majesty," he says stiffly, glancing at the man behind him. "I…we did not mean for you to hear all that."

"Really, Jauffre," I murmur, setting my book down. "I don't see what the fuss is. She can handle herself. At Kvatch – "

"Your pardon, Martin, but fighting Daedra does not require the same skills as infiltrating a highly-charged cultist stronghold and retrieving the most important artifact in the Empire. She is young, unskilled, and this mission is beyond her."

"She is young, yes. But she will not fail. I believe in her." Not to say I'm not worried, but I'm not worried for the same reasons. "I trust her – you made her a Blade, didn't you?"

"Blade or not, she is not capable of a mission of this importance. I'm sorry, your Majesty, but this was another foolish mistake on Baurus' part. I shall have him reprimanded, not to worry."

The man behind him winces – not out of humiliation, but in pain. "Baurus?" I ask.

He snaps to attention. "Your Majesty?"

Not the time to ask him to use my name. "If you don't mind me asking, what was your other foolish mistake?"

"I…" His throat works silently. "I allowed your father to die, your Majesty." More pain in his gaze. I recognize the look. The girl, staring across our little encampment outside Kvatch and trembling…she had the same look. "And I…survived. It should have been the other way round."

"I see." So this was the single Blades survivor. I can hardly hate him for the death of a father I never knew. And from what the girl has told me, Emperor Uriel knew of his death. Walked into it, even. Ridiculous. Blaming this man would be scapegoating him. "Perhaps – as it was my father – any punishment should be placed in my hands instead."

"Ah…" The old man's jaw works and he gives an abrupt nod. "As…as your Majesty wishes."

"I do."

"Well then. I will be outside. On my rounds. If you should need me." He turns on his heel and strides away, body language radiating displeasure. Baurus winces again as the door slams and I just barely stifle a groan. Gods' Blood…I handled that badly.

And suddenly Baurus is on his knees before me, which doesn't help a whit. "My punishment, your Majesty?"

"I'm afraid I haven't thought of one yet, to be honest." Resting my chin in my hand, I examine the man. He's yet to put on his armor, and it's almost strange, after a week or so with the Blades, to be able to see the face of the person I'm talking to. A rather handsome man, really – strong-featured and with intelligent eyes. Hmm. "I suppose I could order you to call me Martin."

"I…I'm not sure I could follow that order, your Majesty."

"You wouldn't be the first, I'm afraid." With a sigh, I lean back in my chair, pressing my hand to my mouth and studying him over my knuckles. How loyal to me is this man compared to his brothers and sisters in arms? Guilt is a powerful motivator – I should know that, as a priest. The look on his face says he would die for me to make up for Uriel. I can't help but wonder… "I'll think of something."

"Yes, your Majesty." He fidgets for a moment. "Pardon me for being so familiar, but…Grandmaster Jauffre says you've some healing skill? I'm afraid I've been wounded."

I was wondering when he'd bring it up. "Some. As I've mentioned before, it's not really my strong point."

"A little bird says you're pretty good at it, your Majesty."

I have to smile. "Well, be that as it may, or may not be, I'll be happy to take a look at your wounds."

Relief slides over his face as he turns, unbuttoning his shirt. "Thank you, your Majesty. I've some skill with Restoration myself, but it really wasn't enough, and I fear I received it down in the sewers…"

"I'll need to clean it – " No sooner have the words left my mouth than Baurus is nodding at another Blade – Achille, I think. The man quickly leaves and returns with a steaming bowl and several clean cloths. Even as I thank him, I can't help but be annoyed. Again. These are my orders to give. Even if I had been a mere healer, rather than heir, they still would have been.

Patience, I counsel myself as Baurus slips off his shirt, sitting beside me. Soon you will have more orders than you know what to do with.

Tracing my hand over the muscles of the man's back, I examine the wound. It really isn't as bad as I thought it was. A long scrape more than a gouge. Like the girl gave to herself in order to learn. So willingly. That willingness…fascinated me.

What else might she do for me, I wonder?

"Any other wounds?" I ask him and he shakes his head. "Cracked ribs?" He shakes his head again. "What did this? A mace?"

"A couple of 'em, your Majesty." Glancing over his shoulder, he flashes a smile at me. "But that's a few more cultists we don't have to worry about."

The low rumbles of the front gates suddenly shake the temple. A muffled shouting outside. Jauffre? Baurus looks up and shifts his weight between me and the door. His entire demeanor seems to change. His face hardens from its pleasant lines. As does his body. I can feel his muscles tense beneath my hand.

"I need your report - !"

The door slams shut behind the girl and opens a moment later for a red-faced Jauffre. Yanking my hand back, I find myself blinking speechlessly at them. Baurus is out of his chair, taking her hands. She pulls away as he asks, "What in the world - ? Are you all right? Were you injured?"

"No." The words whip out of her and I don't know which question she's answering. Her shoulders are tight beneath the over-large chainmail – tighter even than Baurus' – her eyes fixed on the floor. Finally, she looks up at me and I see the pain on her face. The same pain as Kvatch, when she found the count and his family dead. I remember the look on her face.

"The Amulet?" Jauffre prompts. "Where is the Amulet?"

"Camoran," she mumbles, looking up at me with that pain in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried. I…H-Here." She suddenly yanks a cloth-wrapped bundle from her pack and shoves it at me. I can see the sheen of sweat across her brow. Her hands shake. "Take it. I don't want it."

Jauffre reaches over her shoulder, face creased. "You can't just hand something from the Mythic Dawn to the Emperor's heir, child. What if it's - ?"

"I didn't get it for _you!_" she snaps, yanking it away and clutching it to her chest. The look of shock on poor Jauffre's face is priceless, but this really won't do. I don't want him to send my only link to the real world away.

Standing, I murmur her name, holding my hands out to her. Gentle. She's very raw. Very vulnerable. I must be gentle this time.

She looks up at me, breathing hard. "What?"

"Here – you've had a long, long day. Sit down." Despite her soft protests, I take her by her forearms and push her into my chair. Resting a hand on her head, I murmur, "Now tell me what happened."

On the soft order, the floodgates open. She tells me about how she found the shrine and pretended to be a cultist. How she was forced to strip beneath the watchful eye of the shrine's Warden. How she'd seen a man who claimed to be Mankar Camoran himself disappear into a portal with the Amulet – here, I can nearly _feel_ the disappointment radiating off of Jauffre – and was then guided up onto the same platform, beneath a huge statue of Mehrunes Dagon.

Her voice trembles and begins to break when she talks about the Argonian she was ordered to sacrifice. She'd cut him loose instead, but -

"H-He didn't make it," she whispers. "I tried to save him, b-but I couldn't. And I lost the Amulet, too. I…I…" When I stroke her hair and urge her to continue, she holds out the bundle again. Taking it from her, I start unwrapping the cloth as she explains, "I got this. They said it's the Mysterium Xarxes - "

The words leave her mouth the same instant my hand pulls away the cloth and brushes the cover. The two shocks almost make me drop the book with a curse. And she was walking around with it in her pack? "You little idiot! You picked this up with your bare hands? Have you any idea what this is?"

With a frightened noise, the girl flinches away from me. But only for a second. Then she's on her feet, finger jabbing into my chest. "What are you, stupid? Was I supposed to come away empty-handed? I'm sorry I offended your priestly feelings with it, but -"

"_Child!_ Watch your tongue in front of the Emperor's heir! You are in no position to say such things."

She glares at Jauffre's affronted face and steps back, muttering, "Stupid priest."

"It's all right," I murmur, staring at the book. I almost wish I could take the time to enjoy having someone talk back to me after a week of meaningless bowing and scraping. But…this book… "Both of you, please." The shock is easing, though my hands still shake. "Gods' Blood – it's the real thing."

"Is it dangerous?" Jauffre wants to know. "Should we have it removed?"

"I…know some ways to protect myself from it." Holding my breath, I open the book. All in Daedric, of course – but I can read that. Of course I can. The Mysterium Xarxes itself. "But I'm not sure what would be useful to us."

She points at the page I'm on, her trembling finger hovering several inches away. "But it looks useful. It has to be. The whole damn statue fell down when I picked it up. It has to be something you can use."

"I – " Such trust. Whether I can use the book or not, I won't say no. Poor thing needs to be praised after such a painful failure. "Quite possibly. I'll need to study it - "

"Out of the question," Jauffre snaps. "You cannot do it, Martin. It is far too dangerous. I won't allow it."

"We've no other choice, Jauffre." I flip through the book, picking out symbols and phrases. My Gods, I can feel the power of the thing through my hands. So familiar, and yet so different. Something tugs, sharp and aching, behind my heart. "The Amulet has been taken to Oblivion. This book may be the only way to get it back."

"You must be joking." The old man runs a hand over the top of his bald head, searching my face for any sign I am anything but completely serious. "This is not good. Not at all. To bring a tool of the enemy into Cloud Ruler."

For a moment, he's looking at her with suspicion. Reaching past her, I grip his upper arm tightly. "Jauffre, I think this can help us. Truly, I do. Baurus?"

The man hesitates for a moment, then nods. "I agree with his Majesty, Grandmaster."

Jauffre glances from my face to Baurus' and then to the girl, who turns large hopeful eyes onto him. Letting his hand fall, he gives a weak shrug. "Well…what is done is done. We can hardly risk letting the book leave. At least they will not be able to retrieve it." Another shrug, and he reaches out to pat the girl's shoulder. "I've some contacts who can help us with it. We'll find some use."

"Martin can do it," she tells him firmly. "He used to study Conjuration at the Guild. You don't need to call anyone else in."

"Conjuration, is it?" His eyes flick to me. "I'd still rather not have him handling such things. For safety."

"It is safest in my hands for the moment, Jauffre. Its power is great, and even the most stalwart Blade risks being influenced by it." With great care, I set it down on the table, opening to the pages of glyphs and symbols. "I will start working on the protective wards now."

With one last, worried glance, the old man nods. "Very well. That would be…for the best, I suppose. At least we have managed something the enemy didn't expect from us." Another pat on the girl's shoulder. "Rest up for a few days, child. I've a short assignment for you in Bruma soon."

She gives him a half-heated salute as he walks out the door again and collapses back into my chair in a jingle of chainmail. "Gods, he makes me feel like I'm a little kid again, trying to explain how that sweet ended up in my pocket!"

"No worries," Baurus chuckles. "He makes me feel like that too." Reaching over, he clasps her hand. "Good to see you again, kid. Gave them hell, I hope?"

"If accidentally dropping a statue of Mehrunes Dagon on them counts, then yeah. Sure did. I wish you'd been there."

"Me too." He reaches over his shoulder, wincing. "But I'd be no good with this. From the sound of things, you only got there barely in time to see what was going on."

"And to be useless."

Brushing a scraggly bit of hair from her eyes, I reassure her, "No – you weren't useless. You did very well. You made the best out of a very bad situation." The hopeful look she gives me at the praise is nearly painful. "But back to one of the original questions – are you all right? Have you been hurt at all?"

"I'm fine. I've already healed myself," she tells me proudly. "I'm doing better and better at the spell. Really, I am."

"Why don't you heal Baurus, then?" I suggest to her. "Let me see what you've learned."

Her childish eagerness is endearing – more so when she attempts a businesslike air. As though she were a trained healer, she orders Baurus to turn around and let her clean out the wound. He tenses a little with the touch of the cloth, but makes no other noise. She, too, says nothing. Brow creased, lower lip caught in her teeth. Her spell still sputters and flickers, but the light is stronger than before.

As I watch her cast, I consider. Jauffre does not trust this poor girl – why, exactly, I'm not sure. Yet he made her a Blade. Presumably to keep me happy. I'm quite the disappointment, I'll admit.

I don't doubt the old man knows my past. I've likely been watched my whole life. From my childhood – running around my father's fields and helping my mother in the home. My youth at the University, studying Conjuration and eventually losing patience with the slow pace of the lessons. The years after…when I sought something else. Something deeper. Until the accident, and my escape to the Nine.

And here is my past once more. A deeply Daedric artifact…and a lovely young woman at my command. It is almost as though the Gods wish me to embrace it again. Or is it the Daedra calling me back?

Well. Either one, I shan't disappoint.


	4. Second Lesson

"How goes the reading?" I try to sound nonchalant, but in truth, that dammed Daedric book scares the hell out of me. Even the short time I held the thing was more than enough. I would have sworn it felt like the cover was trying to crawl up over my fingers. I don't know how or why he hasn't just thrown it in the fire yet.

He looks up at me and frowns.

"You're bleeding," he observes gently. He places his quill in the book and closes it. "Don't drip on the Xarxes – I'm not sure how it will react." Now his eyes are sharp, almost accusatory. "Why haven't you healed yourself?"

I'm a little annoyed. "Because you told me not to!"

His turn to look annoyed. "I did no such thing."

I dig around in my pack and pull out Azura's Star, holding it out for him, hoping it might work as an explanation. It doesn't, but his eyes are now bright with awe as he takes it from me. I see the light flicker in them. I smile, glad he's happy. Gods know why…I'd expected to clear off as soon as I got him back to the old monk. Getting mixed up with the Blades in the first place was a dumb idea, even if it was the only way to get out of the prison in one piece. The only other choice was to be standing there, an escaped prisoner holding a bloodied sword, next to a dead Emperor. Even with Baurus' word, I might have well have just tattooed "Scapegoat" on my forehead at that point. Better the Daedra you know, after all…

But then they asked, and I certainly had nowhere else to go. Not anymore. And then suddenly_ I_ was a Blade, and everyone was calling me the "Hero of Kvatch!" Except him. He calls me "friend."

Friend of the Emperor. Hell of a step up in life. I could get used to this.

"It's beautiful…" he whispers, turning it over and over in his hands. It catches the light from the fire and his eyes, glittering sharply. He's right. It is beautiful. A lot more beautiful in his hands than in mine. It's just a fancy paperweight in mine. "Are you sure you want to give it up?"

"What would I do with a soul gem?" Martin looks affronted at my glib reply. Didn't he tell me he used to be a Conjurer? _Oops. _I hasten to make it up to him. "I mean…I'm not a mage, remember? I don't know how to use it, even if it is beautiful."

"You're right." He carefully places it on another stack of books. "I won't ask what you had to do to get this. Azura is no Sanguine, but Her ways can be just as…" He trails off.

"Sanguine?" I frown. What does He have to do with all this?

Martin's remembering something, I think. He looks suddenly faraway. He's not smiling or frowning, just remembering. I wonder what he's remembering. He said he knew of Daedric Magicks…maybe he had...what _was_ Sanguine's sphere, anyway? I ought to look it up. Maybe I should have gone to His shrine instead. Surely _two_ Daedric Princes wouldn't have sent me to fight vampires.

"You still haven't healed yourself."

_Oh, right…_ "Do you know how to cure diseases?"

He blinks at me. "I get the feeling I don't really want to know why you're asking me this."

I sigh. "Azura made me fight vampires."

"Vampires?"

"Yes. You know, pointy teeth, pale, skinny – vampires."

He makes a face and I grin. "I know what vampires are. You went to fight them without bringing a Cure Disease potion along?"

"I didn't know what She was going to ask. After She told me, I didn't want to walk all the way to Bruma just for a potion." Ducking my head, I blush, confessing, "I might have lost my nerve."

He shakes his head. "Little idiot." This time, the insult sounds almost fond. I can see his lips are trying hard to not turn up into a smile.

I stick my tongue out at him. "Stupid priest. You'd better appreciate this." He would. I knew he would. He always did. After all, I'm the only other normal person at the Temple. He needs me to talk to. Every time I come back, I bring him the news from around the province. It keeps him from losing touch with the rest of the world. It's the least I can do.

Besides fighting vampires, that is.

It looks like he's trying to make up his mind about something. He sighs. "You're exhausted. Why don't I heal you again, just this once." He holds up a finger while trying to look stern. "But only this once! You'll never learn if you don't do it yourself."

I nod eagerly. I'm not about to disagree with him about this.

"But first, since you're here, go bathe. You must wash out your wounds."

"Do I have to? Water's just going to hurt."

"You're already worried about a disease. I promise it won't hurt anywhere near as much as it would if I healed an infection into you." He leans forward into what I now recognize as his 'lecturing' pose. "Shall I describe what must be done then?"

"Er…"

"Do you know what 'lancing a wound' is?"

I wince. "No, but I get it. I get the point. I'll take a bath."

"Good girl." He settles back in his seat. "Put on something light when you get out."

I stick my tongue out at him again and stomp off to the barracks. Caroline helps me heat the water over the fire, clucking over me. "It's a good thing you have His Majesty to keep an eye on you, don't you think?"

"I think he should mind his own business, sometimes," I grumble. I peel off the chainmail and dump it on the floor, wincing a little as fabric pulls away from clotted wounds. "But aren't priests always like that?"

She waves a finger underneath my nose. "He's not just a priest. He's the Emperor's heir. And he's trying to help all of us. You'll show him respect, or answer to me."

"Hmmph." I can't think up a good retort, so I go back to trying to take off my boots without bending over. It involves a lot of hopping, kicking, and cursing.

Caroline pours the hot water into the tub. Clouds of steam billow up and fill the small room. If I weren't scratched and cut all over, I'd be looking forward to this. Gingerly, I poke a finger into the water.

"My," Caroline says, and I nearly fall in. "You did end up on the wrong side of something nasty, didn't you? Don't let the Captain see you, or he'll start up on another lecture about the virtue of heavy armor."

"Put me in the stuff you people wear, and I wouldn't be able to move." I stretch, trying to look less sore than I feel. "A girl like me's always gotta be able to move."

"True, true," she chuckles. "Scrub down good, now. You look a fright. I'll get you something to wear."

She bustles out like she's a nursemaid, not a top-notch Imperial bodyguard, and I go back to eyeing the tub. I don't look that bad, do I? Sneaking a look down, I wince again. Maybe I do. What isn't black with the dust from the vampires' mines is crusty red from my blood. Really, I'm probably lucky I didn't get attacked for looking like a Dremora.

I wish I hadn't looked. I ache even more now.

Well, the sooner I get this over with, the sooner he'll heal me up, right? I take a deep breath and hop into the tub.

I was right – it hurts. A lot. I hiss in pain and jump up out of the water. The water, dust, and blood stream down my sides in lacy red patterns. I'm forced to stand knee-deep, trembling, hands white-knuckled and breath hissing between my teeth, until the pain ebbs. Thankfully, no one's around to see me hopping about like a naked idiot. I carefully ease myself back in, ducking my head under before the water gets too dirty.

It really isn't that bad, once I get used to it. Almost a good pain.

Someone knocks on the door. "What?" I yell.

Caroline sticks her head in, all rosy-cheeks and mischievous smiles. "His Majesty says I'm to make sure you use soap."

"Tell His Majesty he'll have to come in here and scrub me down himself!"

We both giggle in scandalized glee. It's a good joke. I do use the soap, though. Even though it hurts. That's not so bad once I get used to it, either.

When I'm done, the water's murky and my skin is clean. Caroline helps me dry off, since I'm too sore to bend much. I apologize, blushing a little at her thoroughness.

"No, no, it's all right. Remember, we are Blades." She pats my arm carefully, but with a smile. "We're one in mind and blade, as the Grandmaster says. As long as you're here to serve His Majesty, we'll do anything for you, and I'm sure you'll do the same for us. Now here," she holds out a cream-colored shift, "it's a bit light, but it'll serve well."

"T-thank you." To tell the truth, I have some trouble believing her, but…I've only been here for a few weeks, and they already seem to trust me. _Friend of the Emperor… _I take the shift and hand her the towel. It's stained pink now. "Um…I'm sorry about that, too."

"Don't be. We've had worse, to be sure. Now get dressed. His Majesty wants to see you."

The shift is light against my skin, and a little big for me. I'm thankful – it hardly touches me, so it won't hurt like my chainmail did. And it's so lovely. Without even thinking about it, I rub the sleeve, testing the material like I would if I was feeling about in the pitch-blackness of someone else's closet. Clothes aren't my specialty, but sometimes there's nothing else, and clothes are quiet. So I have to know things by touch – know that it's better to snitch the soft linen than the rougher cotton. Or if I'm lucky, the pretty velvets they wear to Chapel.

The fabric slips smoothly between my water-soft fingers and I gasp when I realize what I'm wearing. I only ever touched something this fine once, and that was for stealing it from a noble's house! "Caroline, I – I can't wear this! This is for a lady! And – and," I lower my voice to a shamed whisper, "it's _underclothes!_"

"So?" She crosses her arms, a stubborn set to her jaw. "His Majesty said to find you something light and soft, and I did."

"But whose is it?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "I found it in the Emperor's room, and we haven't had a lady up here for years. I suppose it could have belonged to Lady Caula."

"The _Empress?_"

"Of course. I asked His Majesty, and he said it was fine. And if he doesn't mind, then you shouldn't."

I stare at the shift, then at Caroline, then back at the shift, and then I give up. I should know better than to argue with a Blade over what "His Majesty" says. I silently apologize to the Empress for wearing her underclothes, and hope Martin is too much the priest to _know_ they're underclothes.

Caroline notices my hesitation, and says, "Don't worry, I'll tell the others His Majesty is speaking to you in private. No one else will see you wearing it. Now scoot." She gives me a swift pat on the bottom, and bursts out laughing when I wince, blush furiously, and scoot. I guess living up here with all these men really makes a girl less…I don't know. Less something. It's like having ten big brothers. I think I'd just _die_.

I'm still trying to force away the blush when I walk up to Martin. Lucky for me, the main hall is totally empty, except for him, and he doesn't seem to think I'm wearing anything other than a plain dress. He barely even looks up when I clear my throat. Part of me is insulted he doesn't notice. The rest is glad. If I blushed any more, my cheeks would catch on fire.

I point at the conspicuously empty spot behind his chair. "Where's Baurus?"

He finally looks up and nods to his left, towards the room that holds the library and the food. "I told him to go get some lunch before he passed out from hunger. I thought he looked as though he might need it."

What _is_ it with priests and not being able to keep their noses out of other's business? Not as though I'm one to talk, but still…this man does everything but have the word "thoughtful" written across his face. It's kind of…touching, in a way. "Probably a good idea." I grin. "It'd hurt if he passed out, the way he's glued to your back. That's heavy armor, that is."

He smiles at my words and beckons me over. "I'll heal you, as I promised, but don't think this is a free ride. This is a lesson, too. All right?"

"Fair's fair," I quip cheerfully. I look about for a chair, give up, and decide to stand. Considering where the last Vampire managed to hit me after it snuck up on me, a chair would probably be a bad idea anyway. I allow myself a brief worry about how the priest will deal with that particular injury. I doubt he's as unshy about things as Caroline is.

Then I discover my worry wasn't necessary.

He claimed that he couldn't heal well, but really? He was being modest. He doesn't even have to touch me. The first spell has to be the one to cure diseases. It burns through my blood and leaves me gasping for air. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, like rubbing a knot out of tight muscles. Like the soap and hot water on my gashes and scratches. When the pain leaves, I'm feeling lighter and somehow cleaner than even the bath made me.

A sigh escapes my lips. "Mmmm…"

"It feels good, doesn't it? That cleansing pain." There's an odd note to his voice. He takes my hand in his and presses his fingers to a cut midway up my arm, where my gauntlet had slipped enough for a vampire to strike deeper than others. I gasp when pain shoots through me. His grip on my hand tightens just enough to keep me from pulling away.

"Martin, that hurts!"

"I know." His eyes are unreadable as he pushes down again. "You can bear it. This is your lesson. Learn about the pain. It is the dark to the healing's light. It is what a healer banishes, but it is not evil. It is part of you. Learn to accept physical pain, and you can conquer it."

"Ah!" This time I grab the back of his chair with my free hand. My body shudders. White lights flash through my vision. I look into his eyes – hooded, self-satisfied, calculating. What happened to the thoughtful busybody? "I c-can't!"

"Yes you can. Relax." He rubs my palm with his thumb, massaging the soreness out of it. "If you tense up, it will only hurt more. Stop fighting it. Relax. Expect it. Accept it."

I shudder again. His hand moves rhythmically against my arm, echoing the massage on my palm – and almost in time with my racing pulse. It seems each pound of my heart brings new pain. I try to slow my breathing, to follow his order. Slowly, it begins to dull. Slowly, it begins to numb. But not enough, and somehow knowing I've failed him is worse than all the pain in the world.

A tear rolls down my cheek. "Stop…"

He does, at once, and the relief is bliss. "You are right. Enough. You are too tired for this lesson." Then, on the heels of relief, comes a new bliss. He's casting, finally casting! The blue light flows from his fingers to caress me. His spell moves over me, into me, and my legs tremble. He eases me down to the floor. "Better?"

My only reply is a throaty moan. I barely hear him speaking, I'm so caught up in the spell. But he's talking so quietly…he's not really talking to me.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Honey rather than vinegar for you. But vinegar is not as bitter as you might think, little one."

Suddenly, and so lightly that I almost don't notice, he pulls my fingers up and brushes his lips against my knuckles. The light of the spell catches in his eyes. He's watching me closely. He's…studying me. Carefully, he touches his tongue to the thrumming pulse under his fingers. Then he moves his mouth downwards, placing gentle kisses across my palm.

I moan again. I can barely believe such small touches could cause such heat. I'm being silly. I'm supposed to be learning how to heal. When did healing turn into this? How did this happen? I can't even recall. I don't care.

The kisses continue further, to catch my first fingertip between his teeth, circling the tip with his tongue. I gasp, a soft noise of pleasure, my fingers twitching. Shyly, I slip another finger past his lips. He suckles both, flicking his tongue from the tender web between to the tips. At the same time, he begins to caress the soft skin of my arm – touches so light they should have tickled. Instead, my body insists it only increases the pleasure. He touches the cut that caused so much pain and it heals with a glowing warmth.

The spell seeks out my wounds, my weaknesses. It caresses me to mingle with the pleasure of his mouth on my skin. "Please…" I say, not know what I'm asking for, but wanting it all the same. His lips move. Is he smiling? Why? He bites down ever so slightly and my fingers move by themselves, pressing their nails into the roof of his mouth. And I cast, too. His eyes smile at me…

He jerks backwards, releasing my fingers. His chest is heaving. The air turns cold on my damp hand. He looks shocked. I'm shocked. I'm confused. I'm surprised. And I'm a little scared. I lost myself for a moment, and I don't know why. My first scattered thought is that I failed the spell, even hurt him somehow. But no… His eyes are fixed somewhere beyond me, but I don't turn to look. I don't want to see.

Before I see, before he can say anything, before something happens, I stand and walk to the main door. A slow walk. If I ran, or even walked quickly, I'd…only people who are afraid of something run. I'm not afraid. I only ought to check on my horse. After all, I was so…I needed to be…I didn't even put her away properly. I hadn't checked her hooves or even taken off her saddle. Maybe I'll try and curry her like Cyrus showed me. I've never had my own horse before.

The cold outside air hits me in the face and curls up my legs. I almost turn back. No. It's just a short walk, and then the horses will be warm. I'm allowed to run out here. Just to keep my feet from getting too cold before I can bury them in the straw of the stables. My mare sees me and whickers softly. She sniffs me over.

As I run my fingers through the little horse's mane, I tell myself I'm not running away. I just need to think. Alone. Yes, that's why I'm standing outside in a thin shift, barefoot, shivering with the cold from my wet hair pressing against my shoulders and neck.

_You wanted a step up in life,_ my mind tells me. _You may have just gotten another one. _Damn it all. _Admit it. _I can't. _Admit it. _I won't! _You will. _Oh no, no, no, no, no… I bury my face in the horse's side. I am. I'm scared. I wanted this. I did. I wanted this, and now that I might have it, I'm scared. I don't understand. Gods dammit, Gods dammit, Gods _dammit_!

No. No. Breathe. Just back off. Think about it. Come back to it later. I just got a Daedric artifact for them. It was a lot of work. No one would blame me if I just disappeared for a few days. I bet if I unloaded some of the stuff I've picked up, I'd have enough to pay off Armand. It'll be all right. Everything's going to work out. I'll leave in the morning. Any earlier, and it might look like I'm running away. And I'm not. Really I'm not.


	5. Jauffre

Well, the Emperor's heir isn't exactly what I expected. He looks like Uriel, I'll grant him that, but he's grown up to be a farmer's son to the core. Not a bad thing, mind you. I'm a farmer's son. It's just a little odd, not to mention…uncomfortable for all of us. He seems like a good man though. It could be worse. Imagine if the heir ended up being a member of the Thieves Guild, like our little tag-a-long, or worse, a Daedra worshipper like those bastards who killed his father. At least, he isn't anymore. I'd been forced to put a stop to that. It hurt the lad badly, but…well, it had to be done, and now I know I was right to give the order.

No, a priest of Akatosh was about the best we could hope for, I muse as I walk about the battlements. Perhaps better. An important sign to the people. A good, devout man. Intelligent, soft-spoken, and thus far above reproach. A little shy, perhaps…and dear me, but we will have to work on his speeches.

My armor creaks like my old joints and I find myself smiling. It has been some time since I wore the armor of the Blades. I never would have thought cold metal could have felt so welcoming. I'll admit I missed it – there's no shame to that. The robes of a monk may be more comfortable, but they do not hold the same pride for me. I never thought I'd be back here, not even when the Amulet was handed to me by a red-faced, dirt-covered waif.

Our little tag-a-long…there was an interesting surprise, for us and for the Mythic Dawn. Luck for us, that she was there to fetch Martin, for I doubt I could have made the journey so quickly. And she seems to be loyal enough, for a thief. I hadn't honestly expected her to meet up with Baurus when I sent her to the Imperial City those weeks back. But she did, and the young Blade tells me she's quite taken with the Emperor's heir. Couldn't stop talking about him, from what I hear. Perhaps trouble later on, but for now? What's the worst that could come of such a childlike attachment? If anything, I should be worried about the trust Martin places in this young girl.

I suppose it's only natural. After all, she did help to save the survivors of Kvatch, and I doubt very much he knows her true past. Still, to send her to retrieve a Daedric artifact…

Speak of the Daedra, here comes the child now. I raise my hand in welcome, but she doesn't see me. Or rather, her attention is fixed upon the door to the main hall. I cannot tell by her face if she has succeeded in her mission or not. I _can_ tell she has been wounded. She pauses for a moment, breathing hard, before she disappears into the main hall.

Must she always go fleeing past me when I try to get her report? Or has the poor child come running back to us for aid? I fear sending her on such a quest was too much for her. After her failure…I worry. Yes, she has managed to stumble across the Xarxes, but she failed in the return of the Amulet. Yes, she uncovered the spies in Bruma, but it was a simple task.

I had hoped it would keep her busy as long as possible, so that she would remain in Bruma. Unfortunately, there had only been two spies, and the mess was quickly cleaned up with the help of the town guard. And, in the short time I had, I had failed in talking Martin out of sending her to retrieve an artifact.

Daedra are different from humans. They seek only to use mortals like us, and I fear that any mission they give her could prove deadly. She would be a fragile toy. Martin should know this. Martin should know this better than any of us.

The boy needs to stop relying on her. He needs to learn to trust his Blades. His real Blades, I mean. Why can't I make him see that? If he had an ounce of common sense, he'd realize the girl will likely take off the moment she gets enough coin in her pocket, anyway. I've seen her type in the town guards before. Such people…their interest in the law is temporary at best. The only reason I asked her to be a Blade in the first place was to keep her here for Martin. The boy needed someone familiar, and she was the closest thing I had. Is it backfiring on me now?

It isn't that I dislike the girl. Not at all. She is a good child, despite her past, and a breath of fresh air to this old Temple. She just worries me. In fact, she scares the hell out of me. I'm afraid Martin might get her killed. And he doesn't need something like that. He would be convinced he got her mixed up in all this, and he would blame himself so deeply he would likely become useless. If it comes down to such a situation, better I be the one to send her out to die. At least then he could blame me.

Well, enough. These old bones need warmth, and it's best not to dwell on unpleasant possibilities until I have to.

Inside the barracks, I can hear the girl complaining to…Caroline, I think. Her voice is too muffled for me to make out the words. Ah well, I'll ask later. Or perhaps I should speak to Martin now. She'll have told him things she won't tell me. Another problem for me to address. Though, again, not right now. Now would be the perfect time for me to speak with Martin about sending out someone who is trained correctly for such things.

"Jauffre!" Martin lifts his hand as I enter the main hall. Something in his palm catches the light of the fire. "Look at this."

I do. And I'm honestly surprised. "Is that…?"

"Azura's Star." He runs a finger over the glittering object, and I can hear the pride in his voice. "She succeeded. Isn't it beautiful?"

Well, I'll be. It seems the little girl has some hidden talents. And Martin was able to judge them better than I. He has that from his father as well. Or is it from his years as a priest? Or…does he know the girl more intimately than I had thought?

The job of a Blade is to always consider all possibilities, no matter how unpleasant or unfortunate they may be. And while Martin may be a priest, he's also a man. If his father wasn't immune to such things, why should he be? Martin, perhaps, has more of a propensity than Uriel ever did. That time spent as a young man…and once we chipped all the dirt off of her, the girl wasn't so hard on the eyes…

I think the worst part about having to consider all possibilities is that I am usually forced to keep my speculations to myself. Because, Grandmaster of the Blades or no, I am still a servant of the Emperor, and it isn't my place to speak about such things. Had I proof of some kind, I could at least advise. But with naught but suspicion?

"Seems a pity something so wonderful must be sacrificed," I say, my mind only half on the conversation.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" He sets it down on the table in front of him. "But it was created to be a tool, as all Daedric artifacts are. We're only using it a little differently, aren't we? In fact, it isn't much different from just giving it up and letting its Prince take it back. At least we're making some use of it beforehand. I don't think Azura will mind."

We talk briefly about the latest section of the book, and the trouble it's giving him before I leave. I note how he carefully keeps from mentioning how he knows the Daedric magic he uses. I hope it means he is ashamed of his past. If he is, we needn't worry about a possible…relapse. I don't like his obsession with the book. I truly don't.

Back in my room, I sift through my papers. Messages from various operatives – all bad news, of course. A letter from Ocato so laden with code as to be nearly unreadable. Altmer have never been terribly good at subtlety. Most are far too bluntly honest. Ocato is the only one I've met with any talent for it at all, and even he has trouble at times.

I read a few lines and chuckle. Obviously written after a particularly annoying session of political wrangling. Something about handing over the Empire to the Mythic Dawn and be damned with it, because they both deserve such a fate.

A package of papers from Tar-Meena…ah, now this is more promising. She's sent me every bit of information she could find about Daedric spells and symbols. I flip through it, but the contents are quite a ways over my head. However, Martin should find it useful. I'd best get it to him as soon as possible.

I open the door to my room at precisely the wrong moment. By Talos, what is the child _wearing?_ Other than the almost painful-looking flush in her cheeks, I mean. I take a step back so she doesn't notice me, sparing us both embarrassment. She glances over her shoulder, but I'm certain she only sees Stefan standing guard outside the Emperor's room. She lowers her head and slips through the door to the main hall. All too late, my brain catches up to me.

But before I can make a move, Caroline comes around the corner, arms full of bloodied cloth and chainmail. "Grandmaster!" She half-lifts her shoulder like she wants to salute, then laughs. "I'm sorry, my hands are full."

I point at the door. "What is _that_ all about, Caroline?"

"She came back wounded, sir, so His Majesty offered to heal her. I understand he's been trying to teach her some Restoration."

How is it such a highly trained spy can be so oblivious? "Her clothing, Caroline. Why is she walking about in underclothes?"

"Oh, that! His Majesty told me to find her something light to wear so her wounds wouldn't be aggravated before they could be healed, sir. And you know she came here with just the clothes on her back. I found the shift in one of the old chests in the Emperor's room, sir, and His Majesty gave me permission to give it to her." She looks a little worried. "Did I do something wrong, sir?"

"No, no…nothing wrong. I was just curious, is all." A completely innocent explanation, it seems. Unfortunately, for me, nothing can be completely innocent. Not since the excuse of, "I'm only tired, Jauffre," became the second-worse shame of the Blades. Not since a completely innocent study into Conjuration magic turned into Daedra worship. And not since Uriel…but this is over and done.

I press my hand to my eyes. When did I turn into this? An old man jumping at every shadow, being forced to think the worst of every situation, that's what I am now. It is what we all are, except for the girl. No, she is innocent. I must assume she is an innocent, for everyone's sake.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

"No…just a bit of a headache." I wave her away. "You go on with…whatever it was you were doing."

She hefts her armful. "Fixing this. Are you sure you're all right, sir? Pardon my saying so, but you look a little drained. Perhaps you ought to lie down for a bit."

Perhaps she's right. "I've something for Martin, but after I give it to him, I may just take your advice."

"Oh, well…I've asked the others to leave His Majesty alone for now. The Restoration lesson and all, you know. But I'm sure they won't mind you stopping by, Grandmaster."

"I see. Er…did Martin tell you to leave him alone, or…"

"Oh no, it was my idea. With the poor girl having to wear those clothes, I didn't want her to be embarrassed any more than she had to be, you see." She smiles, probably recalling the girl's blush. "Well, I'd best wash these before the blood sets in. You know how it is, sir."

I chuckle and wave her off. Indeed, the whole thing seems to be innocent. It is only natural for Martin and the girl to be friends. After all, didn't I make her a Blade, hoping for just that? And if he teaches her how to heal, it can only help her survive. I should stop worrying. I've already thought myself into circles. Best to just realize I'm overreacting, and there is nothing for me to worry abou–

_Gods Blood!_

This cannot be happening. I did not just walk in on the two of them and see…this.

Martin looks up, his eyes go wide, and he jerks back, away from the girl. She freezes. I can easily see the tension in her shoulders through the thin thing she's wearing. Slowly, she stands and walks away, staring ahead determinedly. So like the little thief she is. They all know not to run, not make eye contact. To not do anything to arouse suspicion – and she is quite good at it. For a moment, I almost find myself doubting my own eyes, especially when I look back at Martin to see him once again flipping through his books. They are both very good actors. But I know how to read people after all these years and there's just enough color in the boy's cheeks to reassure me of what it was I saw.

There was never anything in my training on how to give a fatherly lecture to the heir apparent. By the Gods, I don't think I've ever been so disappointed to be right.

I take a step forward, ready to try and speak to the boy – tell him he shouldn't be distracting himself. Tell him what she is. Remind him of his duty and his vows. I take a step forward and he looks at me…and the words dry up in my mouth. The look is a challenge, but not one of a rebellious boy. He knows exactly what he's doing. There's not a hint of shame. I see the eyes of the Sanguine worshipper in the face of the priest of Akatosh.

I cannot argue with such eyes. I will not win. I'm forced to turn tail with nary a word. To leave like a whipped dog in the face of its master.

I didn't realize.

Fool that I was, I did not realize. He is no farmer's son. He is no priest. Blood dictates him, not his raising. He is a Septim through and through. And because of that, he is just as dangerous as his father was. What I saw was only his opening move. He means to have that girl, I am sure of it.

Gods – I am such an old fool! I must stop this. Now. Before it can go too far. She may yet be persuaded. No matter what he is capable of, he is not the type to force himself on her if she were to push him away. And she is ashamed, and unsure. She will be the link I must use to stop this. I need to get her away from Martin for a few days, get her doing something to get her mind away from him – and I must do it without revealing too much of what might happen.

I cannot have her doing this. She may yet remain free of this mess. I can only hope.


	6. The Talk

I think I'm better now. I'm still going to leave for a while, but I'm better now. I think.

I dress almost automatically. Caroline cleaned the blood off of my armor and fixed the broken links, so I can wear it too. Extra clothes in my pack. Lighter ones. It'll be warmer in the Imperial City, of course. Money, for the trip, and for Armand. The trinkets I took from the vampires so I can sell them. The strap goes over my head, and I'm ready. Martin's still asleep, so I can't say goodbye, but that's all right. Probably for the best. I'm coming back, anyway. Right?

Jauffre meets me at the door. "We need to talk."

Oh no, no, no. I need to leave. I don't have time for a new mission. "About what? Is there something else's come up?"

He shakes his head. He looks worried. "No, this is…" He lowers his voice. "This is about Martin." I'm confused, and it must show on my face. He sighs. "Come with me."

He leads me outside to one of the guard towers. I shiver. I don't like standing out here. It's cold. And it's still dark. The towers catch most of the wind that comes racing down the mountains. My hair whips around my face, stinging my cheeks. I shiver again, wishing I was wearing fur armor instead of chainmail. Even leather. The metal is cold even through the padding.

"This had better be important," I say. "I'm _freezing."_

He doesn't smile. Now I'm getting worried. He always smiles like a patient grandfather when I complain about the weather. What kind of problem would prevent a smile to a favored grandchild?

"Jauffre?" I try again. He's staring away, looking distant, his brow deeply furrowed. "What is it?"

"Are you lonely up here?"

If I was confused before, it has nothing on how I feel now. "Lonely? No…not really. I mean, I never have time to feel lonely. I'm always out doing something. If anything, I feel less lonely now than I used to. I just don't have time." I try to laugh. It fails, whipped away by the wind.

"And are you getting along well with the other Blades?"

"Well, yes, but…I thought you wanted to talk about Martin, not me." He looks away, and I realize he's skirting around what he actually wants to say. A sudden fear grips me. Is something wrong with Martin? Did he say something about me? What's going on? "Jauffre," I plead. "You know I'm not a Blade. I can't figure out any of this behind-the-back sort of stuff. You have to be blunt with me, or I'll never get it."

"Very well. You wish me to be blunt? I will be blunt." He clasps his hands behind his back and frowns down at me. "Martin and you. Yesterday."

He might as well have punched me in the stomach. _Damn!_

I want to tell him I don't know what he's talking about, but the hot blood in my cheeks betrays me before I can get a word out. My hand burns like it's on fire. I didn't tell anyone, I'm not even sure why, but I kept that shift, folded up small in the bottom of my pack. Oh Gods. He must have been what Martin was looking at. I should have realized as soon as he asked to talk to me. Oh Gods.

Wait. I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Did I? It just…happened. It was just a lesson that got out of control, because Martin's lonely. I didn't do anything wrong. "What about yesterday?"

"You stepped over a line." He gives me a piercing look, and I can't meet his eyes. I turn away, blushing furiously. "Martin is a priest. He has his vows. You should remember that."

Wait again…that's a lie. He's not. Not anymore. He's the heir now. This doesn't make sense. Unless…

I'm suddenly angry.

"Vows? That's not true. Everyone knows a noble's job is to make more nobles. Don't you tell me him being a priest is the reason you want me to shove off. It isn't him, is it? It's me. You don't want someone like me near your precious heir."

The words spill out of me without thinking, but the look on his face tells me I'm right. "Bladesister…"

"Don't you 'Bladesister' me! It's because I'm a commoner!"

He sighs, looking away again, then back. "A commoner, yes. But that isn't all, is it? A thief, as well. And a murderer, albeit an accidental one." His face holds no trace of a smile as I recoil. He doesn't even look smug. He looks sad. "I am sorry, child. But I had to know who I would be bringing into the stronghold of the Blades. I trusted Uriel completely, but I still had to know."

"You spied on me."

"I only read the prison's records, child."

"You _spied_ on me!"

"You must understand. An escaped prisoner?"

"I-I just…" I ball my hands up into fists. "It was self-defense! He…the guards didn't come until after, and they didn't want to listen to the likes of me. And then I couldn't pay the fine. That's all! I didn't mean to do it. He just…fell when I pushed him away. I didn't stab him or nothing! I - !"

"Shhh." Jauffre holds an armored fingertip to my lips, his eyes full of sympathy. "I realize that. You did what you had to do, and it doesn't lessen you in the eyes of the Blades. We have all had to do things we regret. But they do not matter in this."

I sniff, suddenly wanting to cry, but forcing myself not to. It's too cold for tears. "What d-do you mean?"

"You're a good child, and I don't want you to be hurt. That's why I'm warning you off. You must remember; the Empire's eyes are always on Her Emperor. Maybe you and Martin don't realize it, but the Empire doesn't like royal concubines. Even Martin's mother was sent away in the end. If you continue on this path, her fate will be the fate that awaits you. His destiny is one of an Emperor. Yours is one of a commoner. That wall will always be there, and none of us can cross it – especially not in the way you want to."

"I _don't_ - it's not like that," I insist. My face and ears are so warm now I'm surprised the snow isn't melting. I hate this. I'm going from mad to relieved to embarrassed without any time to think. He probably means to do this, just like any guard. My head's starting to spin.

"It doesn't matter!" he snaps at me. I jump a little. He doesn't usually get angry at me. Strict, yes. Angry, no. But now he's angry. Good. At least I'm not the only one. "You're an escaped prisoner, and a commoner. The people will want a real royal family after all this. They won't want to risk the Septim blood being diluted even further. If you're at all close to him, you'll be a barrier in their eyes. Don't you see? They'll hate you."

"Jauffre…"

"What do you think of when you think of an empress?"

I feel numb. I look down at my rough hands, already scarred from the battles I've fought. I'm no lady. Street trash, that's me. "A noble. Someone born into money. Someone beautiful. Not me. I can't even wear the clothes without my hands snagging them."

"So you see my point?"

I do. I know he's right, and I hate it. "You're lying again. You don't want to help me. It's just your precious Imperial Bloodline you want to help. But I don't want to be… Martin and I are _not_ – "

"But would you?"

"W-what?"

"I have seen this happen before. I saw it with Uriel. You are a young, healthy woman, and Martin is lonely. You saved his life. You are devoted to him, whether you realize it or not."

Devoted…? Am I devoted? That's stupid – I only just met the man. I just…okay…okay, he's my friend. And I like talking to him. And he trusts me, which is different. Good-different. And I trust him. He's lonely, he needs me, and I really like leaning how to heal. Even the latest lesson.

And I really, really like…

No. I'm not devoted, I suddenly realize. I-I…I think…it's his spell. There's something about the feel of his spell coursing though my body. When I cast the spell, it doesn't feel anything like his. Baurus' spell didn't either. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to huddle inwards.

But he's not… No matter how much I need the touch of his hand, his, spell, his mouth – he's not like me. Jauffre's right. I'm sure he doesn't need me.

"I'm going to the Imperial City," I say, dully. "I have to go pay off my bloodprice. I didn't have enough gold last time. I'll be away from Martin. Do you want me to come back?"

He surprises me. "Yes. And I've something for you to do while you're away. Wait here."

"I'm cold."

He smiles now. "You can live with it."

"…wasn't talking about the weather," I mutter as he goes back inside. I could run past him, see if Martin's awake, tell him what Jauffre told me and beg him to prove the old man wrong. But what good would that do? He doesn't need me in that way. Yesterday…he was just playing with me. Testing out his newfound freedom from the Gods. Compared to what he could have, I'm lucky to even count as a distraction.

Just playing. I mean, he doesn't even know what he's doing. Even I know better, and I'm not really…you know. Experienced. Everyone knows you kiss the mouth first. That's the right of things. If he'd just done it right, I wouldn't have…been so surprised.

He's just a stupid old priest. Why can't I get that in my head?

"Here." Jauffre comes back, holding something. He gives me a small stack of envelopes and a warning glare when I poke curiously at one of the seals. "I need you to speak to Ocato and the Counts - "

"Me? Me speak to nobility? Me?" He gives me a look and I remember Martin is really actually better nobility than they are. It's hard to remember. I guess that's why Jauffre's so mad. "Oh. About what?"

"According to the information you retrieved from the spies, the Mythic Dawn could be planning to attack Bruma as they did Kvatch. Should such an attack happen, the Bruma Guard will need reinforcements from the other counties."

"And it's my job to beg." I make a face. Figures. Send the thief. We're only a step above beggars, anyway.

"No, it's your job to _ask_ – as is your right as the Hero of Kvatch." Jauffre looks me over. "The Kvatch cuirass should work, though I do wish that you would wear the Blades armor." He holds up a hand when I start to complain. "Yes, yes, I know. It's too heavy. Hopefully the katana and those letters of introduction will serve well enough to convince them of your affiliations."

"Do they know about Martin?"

He looks surprised. "A very good question. Maybe we can make you into a Blade yet. But to answer…possibly. Ocato does, and each county has its own intelligence. Skingrad especially. But if they don't mention him, you shouldn't. And if they do, simply tell them he is safe. Understand?"

I understand perfectly. Jauffre really wants me out of the way. Fine. I'll go on this stupid mission. I'll practice my healing, too. When I come back, Martin will be proud of me. Even if I'm just a distraction. Maybe he'll find a new one by the time I'm back. The thought wrenches something inside me.

I cram the letters into my pack. Jauffre winces at the sound of crumpling paper. "I'll be back soon. Could you…" I clear my throat and stare at my feet. "Could you tell Martin where I went?"

He's quiet for so long, I'm sure he's going to say no. "I plan to speak with him, don't worry."

I nod, even though I'm more worried than ever. I start down towards the stables, but Jauffre catches my arm. "One more thing."

"What?" I don't want to hear one more thing. Each one more thing only makes things worse. I didn't know what I wanted before, and now I'm so confused, I'm afraid my head'll explode.

"I really do worry about you. Martin…" he trails off, looking out over the snow. "He may be a priest of Akatosh now, but when he was younger, he was involved in…certain things. I don't yet know him well, but I suspect there is a side to him he has hidden and repressed these last few years."

Now he's looking at me, his eyes serious. "I do not know exactly what he is hiding. And it is not my place to speak of what I do know. The Septims can be cruel and careless. Should you go further…I won't be held responsible for what might happen to you, but I will worry."

_You old bastard, _I think, but without venom. "Are you saying he'd hurt me? Martin would never do that." The lie comes easily to my lips.

"Never? Are you sure?"

I bite my lip and look down silently. Am I sure? Sure of what? He already has, hasn't he? And I know what some nobles will do to girls, if they feel like it. He's different, though. He's not a noble, not really. I'm his friend. But…there's something else. He hurts me, but it's not like the other man tried to. He's not hurting for the sake of hurting. He's not hurting because he thinks I deserve it. He was teaching me, right? He has a reason – no, not a reason. A purpose, and that's more than a reason. Even if I don't know what the purpose is. Yet. Finally, slowly, I say, "He'd never…do anything…I don't want him to."

And as I say those words, I know they're completely true.


	7. Sanguine

**Author's Note: **This chapter is the first of the chapters with mature content. It's sexual, however I've tried to keep it from being too explicit and/or crude. Nothing you won't find in your average romance novel, and actually less racy than some. But please, if this makes you uncomfortable, don't read it - or skim it to the non-sex parts if you think I'm awesome and love my stuff. XD

Anyway, there'll be a warning like this in front of each "mature" chapter. Thanks, and enjoy!

* * *

* * *

* * *

I've always liked the way the statue looks during one of the revels, especially at full moons. The stone all but glows in the firelight, and I half expect Sanguine to step off of his plinth and join us. The shadows of His worshipers cast upon Him writhe and twist in their own secret dances. The air is heavy with the scents of wood smoke, wine, and sex. I breathe deep and it is good.

There's a girl beside me, at the very edge of the fire. The heat from flames without and within has made her skin slick and shiny. She shimmers in the firelight. She watches the writhing bodies with wide eyes. The color is high in her cheeks, her lips parted and her breathing quick. One hand rubs lightly against her thigh. I sniff lightly, and a smile creeps unbidden across my lips. Her scent is in the air. A ready woman smells sweet and sharp. Nothing can hide it. Even the Mer, all high and distant, have that scent about them. Animalistic and sweetly crude. It's obvious what she wants, yet she holds herself apart and away. Waiting, perhaps? Someone cries out, and her entire body shudders.

I want to touch her – my body aches with my want. I will have it. But not yet. I will let the want build until neither of us can deny it.

With one finger, I reach out and hook a single lock of her hair, so delicately she doesn't notice. She is too intent on watching the loveplay of the others. That slight connection somehow seems much deeper than it should. I could pet her, feeling the smoothness of her hair, easing her into a gentle embrace. I could take a whole handful, pull on it until tears come to her eyes, take her roughly.

I decide to do neither…or perhaps both. My fingers comb through her hair. She jumps at the sudden tug, then lets out a little cry when I hit a snag, pulling tight and snapping. She turns to me, glaring, and I smile. I've taken her attention for myself. Now to see if I can take her pleasure.

Gently, I wrap her hair around my fingers. It's soft, yes, and ever so slightly damp from her sweat. Just as her skin will be. "This is your leash," I tell her. I give a slight tug, smiling at the way her eyes widen further in indignation.

She scowls and I tug again, a little harder. Now she brings her hand up, trying to push me away. I give her a sharp tap against her thigh, barely more than you'd give a child's wrist. For now, gentle is better, I think. Still, she stares at me, mouth forming a perfect 'O' of shock. "You hit me!"

"I punished you," I correct. I'm pulling slowly at her hair, and she's moving towards me without even realizing it. When she's close enough, I brush my lips over her forehead. She pulls back and I tap her thigh again, tugging on the lock of hair at the same time. Her mouth twitches in a half grin. She understands the game now.

She slowly tests how much freedom I've given her – between the taps and the kisses she has a few inches to herself. She sits silently in that space and looks me over. Her eyes rove over my body, pausing now and again as she examines what I have to offer her. The tip of her tongue moistens her lips. The light in her eyes says that my offering pleases her. On her hands and knees she moves forward again, cat-like, sensual. She kisses my knee, and then the inside of my thigh. The ache goes from want to need, and I lower my head to reward her.

Suddenly, she ducks in a new direction, and I lose my grip on her hair. I see the flash of her teeth in the firelight, a laugh of triumph that I hear even as I grab her waist and we tumble to the ground in an awkward flailing of naked limbs.

She's almost impossible to hold. The slickness of our skin and her quick little fingers keep me from keeping my grip on her. She ducks and weaves through my arms, laughing the entire time. She stays close though, inside the invisible boundary I set. She's still playing the game, and for now she thinks she's winning.

I think it's time to show her that she isn't.

In one move, I push her off of me and pin her against the base of the statue. My hands hold her arms tightly against the stone. Her hair is full of leaves and her grin is positively wicked. There's a smudge of dirt and grass across one of her cheekbones. She laughs a little breathlessly, coughs, and laughs again. I laugh back at her. Soon we're giggling together as I try to pick the leaves out of her hair.

An idea sparks in my mind. I take one of the leaves and flick it against her lips. She nips at it and catches it between her teeth, her eyes sparkling up at me. When I tap her lower lip, she opens her mouth enough for me to slide the leaf free, over her chin and down her neck. I make the leaf dance over her skin, smooth and cool. She giggles and squirms, trying to guide it to more sensitive areas.

Her eyes beg me to stop teasing her. A wordless plea to feel my hands. When I drop the leaf and stand instead, the look of disappointment on her face is almost painful.

"Stand up," I order. "Keep your back against the stone."

She obeys, slowly. My breath catches at the soft, rasping sound of her skin moving against the statue. She's aroused enough now that every one of her movements is sexual. If Sanguine could come alive, now would be the time. I think He would enjoy this almost as much as I am.

I step forward and press myself full against her for a heartbeat. Her soft, sensitive flesh gives under me and her breath is hot and moist on my chest. She starts to lift her arms…"Don't move," I whisper. I thrust my hips forward once to punctuate my words, pressing into her belly, and breath hisses between her teeth as she has to force herself to not reply in kind.

The game has changed, but she's still playing. Good girl. For her reward, I tilt her head back and lightly brush my lips over hers. She flushes at the touch. It's almost too tender – too intimate for her. It's a gift that means too much.

Moving away, I rest a single finger in the hollow of her throat. I can feel her pulse racing. She stares at me, eyes wide and dilated like a little doe's. The kiss startled her, and she looks at me askance. She's wondering what I plan to do with her. Images and questions must be racing through her mind. Will he stay? Will he leave? Is he going to leave me hanging? Is he going to hurt me? What is the game now?

Achingly slow, I start to run my finger down her body. I pause for a moment at her breasts and take my time admiring their perfect shape, heavy and soft. I trace the undersides with my fingernail. They're too soft to scratch, but the implication is there.

The gentle curves of her belly and hips are firmer. I stroke the delicate skin just below her navel and she squeaks. Her muscles tense like she's trying to pull away. She must be ticklish. I can't resist a few more soft touches. She starts to look down and I grab her chin. "No." Her jaw clenches, but she obeys. The game is mine now. The rules are mine. She's comfortable with this, but she is not quite mine, not yet.

Slowly, I start to kneel on the ground before her. I tap her stomach when her eyes follow me. Immediately, she looks forward again, over my shoulder at the others. A fresh shudder wracks her. I'm not worried, for she won't be looking at them for long. Are they watching the two of us up against the statue of Sanguine? Are they following the path of my hands as I move down her body? I hope they are, for that means that I control them all.

I brush my lips against her collarbone while I rub my palm in circles over her stomach. She lets out a gasp at the new sensation. Her breasts give wonderfully when I kiss the soft inside curves. I find the insides of her thighs to be just as sensitive as her stomach, likely more.

Her scent grows sweeter and she nearly sobs as I deny her what she wants, but she keeps her head up and her back against the stone. I can see her jaw working, and I'm perversely pleased. She's feeling only a fraction of the frustration that I feel as I watch her, but in this, I've got a bit of my own back. I'm not a cruel man, though, and I won't torture her forever.

I touch my tongue right where her thigh meets her hip, and I laugh at the noise she makes. So sweet. Perhaps I'll tease her just a bit longer. I gently blow across her heated flesh. Her legs tremble alarmingly. Well, perhaps I shouldn't, unless I want her collapsing onto me. Not yet, anyway.

I touch a fingertip to her, run it lightly along her flesh. She goes rigid. She doesn't say a word, but I can hear her begging in her very breath. It catches. It whines in her throat and between her teeth. It trembles with her in a long, drawn out _*ahhhhh…_

Her fingernails scrape against the stone as I stroke her. I have to force myself to keep my hands steady. I tremble with the same desire that she does. The deep, pounding ache begs me to take her. My body wants to use hers and it's more than ready for it.

_Yes. Now!_

All at once, I stand and slip my fingers easily into her. Her mouth opens in a beautiful, wrenching gasp as she trembles around me. I curl my fingers inside her and her hips jerk forwards. Her arms come up to grab mine, and I have to press my hand against her waist to keep her back. Her skin burns hot against mine. If she were to embrace me now…

I feel the muscles in her belly rolling and clenching as her hips rock. I hardly need to move. She thrusts herself against my hand with complete abandon, and I smile through the red haze in my mind. The power, to reduce another person to this. Or better – to elevate them. To be able to strip away every pretense, every lie. She is pure energy now. A helpless, gasping, pleading power that rivals even Sanguine in its beauty. She no longer just shimmers – she gleams.

Here is your offering, O Sanguine! What is brandy compared to _this_?

Her nails dig into my shoulders and she wails. Close – so close. I have to finish her quickly. I kiss her shoulder, run the tip of my tongue to the nape of her neck, and nip her soft skin. When she throws her head back, I catch the skin of her throat in my mouth. I only have a moment to suckle before she tears away again.

Her body twists violently; she's straining to press herself against me, craving the feeling of flesh on flesh. I tighten my grip on her waist to keep her steady, but she's fighting me now as she gets closer. I push my fingers deeper into her, but it's not enough. She wants more. I want more. I need to feel her beneath me. Her hips slap against me and I groan. It takes all of my self control to not throw her down onto her back and plunge into her.

"San…Sang…oh Gods…" She looks up at me, eyes still so wide and innocent despite what I've done to her. The words trail off with a keening moan. Her breath now comes too fast for them to keep up. Her mouth hangs open as she gasps wordlessly and raggedly.

And then she's arching and crying out and I'm pulling her tight against me, ready to –

To…

I open my eyes to find myself cocooned in damp sheets, and groan. Another dream. Ever since she left, I've had them. Every night, just as intense. Just as frustrating. I'd like to say they're the result of the Xarxes, but the truth is they're coming from within, not without. I can only hope they're the prophetic dreams the Septim blood supposedly brings. If not, I'll have to take matters into my own hands – whatever that might entail.

Jauffre must have talked to her by now, thinking he's helping me. I have to assume he knows my past, or he wouldn't be this worried. He may have even told her. She'll more than likely be too afraid to take the next step if he did. I want to approach her, but it may be impossible. Who does that leave me? Jena's a bit too straight-laced for what I need. Caroline…she'd be willing to do anything for her Emperor, but I don't think I'd trust her to keep it from Jauffre. As for Baurus, I don't want to cross that bridge yet. I'm not quite sure what might be on the other side.

And I'm not even going to consider Jauffre. That thought does the work of ten cold baths.

I run a hand through my tangled, sweaty hair and sigh. I may as well face the facts. I'm not craving a dalliance right now. The girl is something I haven't seen since my days with Sanguine, and I'm not about to let her go to waste. Even better, I'm quite fond of her – which is a far step above the relationship I have with most of the Blades. As I was once told: bedding a friend is sweet, bedding an enemy is violent, but if your only choice is one you feel nothing for…well, better you just go back to your ale.

Or back to your books, in my case. The Xarxes is calling, and as much as I'd like to be drunk while I deal with it, I may as well summon a Xivalai and ask it to take off my head. That'd be quicker than a drunken mistake would be.

But before I face the others, it would be best to make myself presentable. No sense in letting anyone else know how hot inner fires might burn. Not that the cold bath does much for them, but it at least cleans the sweat from me. As I dress, my robes are rough against my skin, and they remind me of who I am now. No longer am I the worshipper of Sanguine. I am now a priest of Akatosh, and the Imperial heir.

Even as the thought comes to me, I have to laugh. No longer? Those are the words of a fool trying to convince himself of something. I will always be the man who once stood naked under the full moons and made love to the sound of crackling fire. Nothing will change that. Nothing will change the craving. Even becoming an Emperor.

The air outside my room is surprisingly cold, the wooden floors like ice on my bare feet. I nod vaguely at the Blade standing guard. They're all certain it is the Xarxes that fills my mind and keeps me from sleeping. That's only partly true, but it's best to let them believe such for now.

The Xarxes sits silently on the table, alone in the room. I run my hand down its cover. It's sometimes difficult to believe what this book truly is. A trap. Mankar Camoran is too wrapped up in his own schemes to realize it. And the members of the Mythic Dawn are blinder still. An equal to Mehrunes Dagon? Sheogorath is the only Prince who would find _that_ claim amusing. I can only hope Camoran doesn't take the rest of Nirn with him when Dagon finally exacts His due.

And I hope the girl is spared for what she's done to Him. I've seen the signs already. The wastes of Oblivion are not for mortal intruders. I trust in her inner strength, but she needs more than what she has to survive this. She needs my knowledge, and I need her will. I must teach her, train her, hone her into the Blade I require to fight the hordes of Oblivion.

If we give each other anything less than everything, I fear we won't survive.

The Daedra are terrible indeed. I was foolish when I was younger to assume they were not. We live in a world of mad gods and vengeful spirits. But some of us are more blessed by them than others. Or maybe cursed.

I remember the Rose – thank all the Gods she didn't try to get it instead of the Star. If she had… I remember holding it in my hands, running my fingers over it until the thorns tore my skin – heart full of pride.

There was beauty in it…not the same beauty of Azura's Star, but possessing a level of craftsmanship no mortal hands could ever reproduce. And never could, as it was grown, not made. Still, despite the beauty, I could always feel the terrible power in it. I couldn't help it. It was alive in its own way. A Rose with thorns able to pierce the very barriers of Oblivion itself. And worse than the power it contains…the memories it would bring with it.

I'm a little wiser now, I hope. Or…at least older. I know of the thing's bite now and I know there are some things I can't control completely. Not without work, at least. First the Xarxes, then I will worry about the girl. She will be the greater challenge, and the greater reward.

The brief memory of her delicate, hesitating spell flickers through my mind. I wonder if all of her touches are like that.

Something will have to happen soon.


	8. The Gate

**Author's Note**: And I'm back!

* * *

His Majesty is a good man – and I'm worried about him. Because his Majesty isn't really a Majesty at all. He's a bookworm, you know? A mage. A priest. He's a kind man, and this isn't a kind place. We're all on edge. I've heard the Grandmaster wondering aloud what would happen if one of us were to die. I know what would happen. His Majesty's heart might well break. Especially if it's our little thief-girl.

Too bad Jauffre sent her out again. I was getting kind of used to having her around, and she cheers Martin right up. Besides, she still owes me a sweetroll.

I'm lying in my bedroll as I worry, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why I decided to leave that great bed at Luther's for a wooden floor. I had a real bed back in the palace. You might say I was spoiled, but _damn_, I miss it.

"Oi – Baurus." Glancing over, I see Fortis wander in, dripping from the bath and carrying his armor. "You're up early."

"You too."

"Sparring with Pelagius." He flexes one arm, grinning. "Got to stay sharp. You should come with us – the heir isn't going to drop over dead sitting by the fire and reading." I grunt and he rolls his eyes at me. "Suit yourself. But you need to get out. Get your mind off things."

Dammit, he's right, I should. I should go sparring, stretch my arms and legs, get the blood pumping…

But I've got to stay at his Majesty's side.

As Fortis leaves in a jangle of armor and sword, I rub a hand over my eyes. You're being stupid, I chide myself. He's safe here. This won't be another Emperor Uriel. He's safe. The girl mentioned he'd studied at the Guild. A Conjurer, right?

Odd business for a priest. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't much like that kind of business, you know? Summoning stuff. The same kind of stuff we're fighting. I don't think the girl would lie about him, though. And he does know a hell of a lot about that book.

Oh, who cares? As long as it gives him an edge to stay alive against these bastards. We could use some more mages.

Sitting up, I stretch, listening to my back pop from my hips to my shoulders. Spending my days standing around in full armor is taking its toll. I'm as stiff as a plank of wood. And Talos only knows why I stay right by him. Two feet away or patrolling the walls like everyone else – really not much difference, you know? They're not going to come out of the damn walls like they did back in the city. Right?

Right, I've had this talk with myself every morning for the last few weeks, and I'm still not buying it. I still jump every time I see something red out of the corner of my eye. Hell, I still jump at _anything_ that moves at the corner of my eye. I almost slugged Fortis in the face last week.

Maybe it's a good thing I'm staying indoors. The Grandmaster's usually out on the wall, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life mucking out stables after I punch him.

Luckily, nothing jumps out at me in the bath or when I'm putting my armor on. By now, the rest of the Blades are up – at least the sleeping rolls are all empty. I'm just fastening my bracer, reaching for my helmet, when one of the doors opens. Jauffre walks in, gaze sweeping the room. When he looks at me, his eyes are hard. And tired. Talos forgive me for saying so about the Grandmaster, but I think he's gotten more wrinkles overnight.

"Baurus? Are you the only one here?"

"Grandmaster!" I snap to attention as he walks over. "I am. Is there something you need?"

"Come with me." He nods his head at the door. "There's something you need to see."

"Uh…" I don't really like that look on his face. "Right away, sir."

He doesn't say anything else as I follow him outside. The sun is just barely beginning to rise, lighting the mountains with a rosy tinge. But there's something strange. It takes a while for me to figure it out, but finally I put my finger on it.

It's completely still out. There's no wind, no sound of birds or of horses in the stable. Nothing moves. Most of the Blades are out on the wall and they don't move, either. I can see Fortis staring at something down the mountain, and his face is the color of ash in the early dawn light. I follow his gaze and my stomach drops down into my boots.

"Dagon's _balls._"

"I should hope not, but you're not far off."

From the walls of Cloud Ruler, you can only just see Bruma's walls. The snow's usually blowing about too much for that. If you've got good eyes – and mine aren't half-bad – you can see the guards patrolling. Only there aren't any guards today. And I'm not looking at the walls.

I haven't seen an Oblivion Gate before now. It's huge. As tall as the city gates, burning with dark red fire. The snow's melted in a wide swath around it and the ground itself looks warped and twisted, reaching to the sky with blackened fingers. There's a pull to it. More than just drawing the eye, it pulls you in. Just looking at it, I know it's something no human should ever see. The inside must be horrible.

And that poor kid's seen it.

"Is it an attack?" I finally manage through dry lips.

"Not yet." The frustration is evident in the Grandmaster's voice. "It's just sitting there. A few Atronach have come out, but…"

"What are we going to do about it? What's the plan?"

A long moment of silence greets my questions. Finally, he murmurs, "No plan. Captain Burd has gone in, with a contingent of guards. I sent the girl to guide them. It should be enough, I believe."

"_What? _You're – her – in there?" I stammer, forgetting my rank and his both in my shock. "She's a kid! You can't send her in there! Not again!"

"I already did. She's managed in quite a few others – she will manage in this one."

For the first time in my life, I want to hit a commanding officer. Stable-mucking or no. Gods – the man is shameless! We've got a whole company of Blades up here, and he sent her alone! Does he want to get her killed? Does he _want_ to break his Majesty's heart?

I'm not the only one staring at him. Poor Caroline looks like she's going to cry, one hand over her mouth. "Grandmaster, we can't let her do this alone! She's just a child!"

"She is the Hero of Kvatch!" he suddenly snaps back. "Have you all forgotten that? She is the only one of us who knows what lies on the other side of the gates! She is the only one with the knowledge, the only one with the experience, and the only one I am willing to risk in this way!" As we all stare at him, eyes wide, he takes a deep breath. "I did not make this decision lightly. I believe she can do this. Don't you?"

He's telling the truth, I realize. He's the only one of us Blades with his head on straight right now. Sending her in was the best choice, and we're all so ruffled by Emperor Uriel's death we just didn't want to see it.

Shame trickles through me, hot and bitter, and my anger drains off. I'm an idiot. We're at war, and I'm a short-sighted idiot.

After a long moment of silence, Captain Stefan asks, "What shall we tell his Majesty? The girl is dear to him."

"I know," Jauffre says, his gaze flicking away. "That is why he is not to be told until she returns. If something should happen to her, I shall take the blame. Martin is not yet prepared to lead a war."

"I kind of hope he never is. He's a gentle soul," I murmur.

The Grandmaster opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head. "He's a Septim. They're not gentle souls. Never have been. With the blood of Talos and Akatosh in his veins, he _will_ know how to command." Looking down at the Oblivion Gate, he murmured, "Double the guard on the walls. Those who can use a bow, carry one. We haven't seen any Winged Twilight or Daedric Seducers, but we're taking no chances on an aerial attack." He hesitates for a moment, then, almost reluctantly, "If the gate isn't closed before tomorrow's dawn, I'll send a couple men down."

I almost volunteer right then, but I know His Majesty needs me. I glance over at the Main Hall, and then look back to Jauffre's finger in my face.

"I'm quite serious, Baurus. Not one word of this to him. He's not to know."

"Your pardon, Grandmaster, but…why?"

His jaw works for a moment. "I simply don't want him to worry. He needs all his concentration for the book. It's for his own good."

That…makes sense, I suppose. I don't know. I just have the feeling that I'm missing something important. Something's not quite on the up-and-up, if you know what I mean. I wonder if the girl might have some 'special' orders. The kind that shows up written on rice paper from Morrowind, with the instructions to dissolve it in water and drink the lot once you're done reading it. I've never gotten orders like that, but I've known a few who have. Retirees, right? Because you won't talk about it until it's long past.

So maybe that's it, I reason as I walk back inside. I can't think of any other reason Jauffre would be so worked up over having her go off on her own through all this. Something's going on, though. I'd stake my life on it.

Off to the side in the Main Hall, I see his Majesty bent over a book, quill in one hand. His face is tight with concentration. His eyes flit from one line to another, his fingers following an instant later to scribble notes.

For a moment…he looks just like his father.

"Your Majesty?" I ask cautiously. He doesn't look up. I try again, louder. "Your Majesty? How long have you been awake?"

A few heartbeats more and he finally stops, blinking. "Oh, Baurus. I'm sorry. Were you saying something?"

"Did you sleep last night, your Majesty?"

"Oh – a little. Not well, but enough for this."

"Are you…feeling all right?"

"Mm. I'm a little lonely, perhaps." His finger traces the cover of that strange Daedric book. I swear – the girl has some guts, picking that thing up. "There isn't much for me to do here but study and wait for her to come back with news."

I don't need to ask who he's talking about. She's the only one who ever leaves. Should I tell him she's been back and gone again already? But then I'd have to tell him about the gate just outside Bruma, huh? And I'll have to tell him the Grandmaster sent her in there. And then he'll worry himself sick and Jauffre will be furious. Damn, damn, damn.

"I'm sure she'll be back soon. That girl has one of those charmed lives. You'll see."

His Majesty gives me an odd look. "A charmed life?" he repeats. "I pray – well, I would pray she never needs to strain a charm like that, but in these days, it's a little too late for such a prayer, isn't it?" The odd look melts into a slight smile, ever-so-slightly tugging up the corners of his mouth as he presses a hand to his chest. "Still, it never hurts, does it?"

It's amazing how he's managed to keep his faith in the Gods after all this. Now he reminds me of the priests of my youth. The ones who impressed me so much. The ones I thought I'd never find again. I tell him as much, and he laughs.

"I'm hardly a saint, Baurus. I'll admit, back in the chapel in Kvatch…I was angry. I was angry and frightened and more than ready to give up on the Gods." Another chuckle. "Foolish, I know. I can hardly expect the Gods to step out of the sky and battle Their own sibling in my defense. So They sent me her instead. Perhaps that is the source of her charmed life." He leans forward, lacing his fingers together. "At any rate, I only hope They know what They're doing. I don't much like this feeling of being a pawn."

"I understand that, your Majesty."

He studies me, and I'm reminded of his father again. Gods, but those blue eyes can go sharp. "Baurus? Speaking of being a pawn…are you angry with Emperor Uriel for what he did to you?"

_That_ catches me off-balance. Almost as much as the gate did. "I…uh…to me, your Majesty? But I…"

"He knew he was going to die, and yet he didn't tell you. He could have saved the life of two Blades if he'd been truthful. Forgive me for saying so, but it does seem like he used you all."

"It's our duty, your Majesty. You won't find a single Blade who wouldn't have gone with Emperor Uriel." I draw myself up to attention. "We're all honored to die in defense of the Emperor."

"But would you have preferred the truth?" he presses. "Would you rather have known what was happening? That Uriel believed he was going to his death? Wouldn't you have rather known his secrets?"

"I…" What to say? Training didn't really cover what to do when one Emperor asks you a question about the previous one. I don't really know where my loyalties are supposed to lie here.

Because, truth was, the man is right. We lived and died for the Emperor, and I can't begin to say how much it hurt when I found out he wasn't up front with us. Not that I expected him to tell us everything he thought, but…it was our lives, y'know? And he didn't bother to mention he was going to die at the end of that road, no matter how much blood we shed.

"Baurus?"

"I…can't really say, your Majesty. And I don't really think I'd want to know all the Emperor's secrets. Just…" Meeting his eyes, I try to grin. "Just don't pull the same thing on us, okay?"

"Ah-hah," he says quietly. "Well then, Baurus – you've got my word. No one else is going to die for me. Not if I can help it."

Ah hell. He's going to break in two when it happens. But I nod, forcing the grin to stay on my face. I don't think he's buying it, but what can I do? Tell him I don't think he's quite up to the stress of the job? I'm sorry, your Majesty, you're the best priest I've ever met, but I don't think you're going to do so hot at this Emperor thing?

Still…I wonder what he means by 'no one else?' No one here has died. I wonder if he's talking about Glenroy, or Captain Renault. I can't help but glance at their katanas hanging over the fire, and my heart does a little clench. "You're a good man, your Majesty."

I'm not sure what response I expected from that, but it wasn't a laugh. "Baurus – I think this is the first time anyone here's admitted I'm just a man. Thank you."

Jauffre saves me from looking like a slack-jawed idiot. He walks in and waves me off, lowering his head to murmur to his Majesty. I'd stay, but I've no idea what to say now. Might as well take a walk 'round the wall, I decide. I want to keep an eye on the gate, anyway, and say a few prayers to Talos for my Bladesister's safety.

The gate's still there, reflecting red on the gathering clouds. It makes me feel even sicker than before. Jena beckons me over with her bow and we both stare down at the gate. "Any movement?"

"Not a wick. Nothing in or out since – "

There's a roar – my head insists there must be a roar. But my ears can't hear it. The red glow of the gate pulses once, like a dying heart, and explodes in a whirlwind of flame. The trees around the gate bend away from it, scattering snow that melts before it hits the ground.

By the time the shockwave reaches me, it's little more than a cool breath. But my heart's in my throat. She did it! I can't believe it! Out of the corner of my eye I see Fortis punching the air, grinning widely. "Someone get Jauffre!" he crows. "He'll want to see this!"

"Oh, good on her!" Jena breathes, half-collapsing against the wall in relief. She grins up at me. "It seems we can hold our own against Dagon, doesn't it? One little thief-girl and his offenses crumble." A glance down at the smoking ruins of the gate, and she murmurs, "It's nice to have hope. It truly is."

We all have hope, now. If a little girl can do it, so can we. Right? And she's our little girl. Our newest Blade.

Arcturus is the first to notice, his sharp eyes picking everything out. He waves the rest of us over with a shout, pointing down the mountain. Bruma soldiers are winding their way up the path, led by Captain Burd. Two of them are carrying something between them.

A stretcher.

And she isn't walking with them.

Oh Gods.

Gods, no.

The joyful atmosphere is gone in an instant. For far too long, we can do nothing but stare. I feel like I swallowed ice. Jauffre's expression is resigned.

Caroline pushes forward. "Permission to meet them!" she barks. Jauffre nods and she grabs Fortis' arm. "Come on!" The two of them run like the wind despite their armor, pushing the door open, running down the path. That's the signal, and the rest of us explode into action. Even though there's nothing to do, it's still better than staring silently like we're at a funeral. After all, we don't know what happened. Could be a sprained ankle, right?

Even as I think it, I know it's not. Caroline would have her limping her way up here in a second if it were as small as that. Instead, she's hovering at the side of the stretcher, hands clasped to her chest.

The solders from Bruma make their way inside. It is her. And for one horrible moment, I think she's dead. Her face is so pale as to be nearly gray beneath the ash that sticks to her skin. She's been haphazardly bandaged with what looks like a Bruma tabard, but the cloth is already a deep crimson. Her side – oh Gods – I've seen enough battle to know she's been run through. Her chainmail is in a broken, red-stained pile beside her.

But she's breathing. Thank the Gods, she's breathing.

Captain Burd is whispering heatedly to Jauffre in the corner. He's as ash-streaked as his men, his hands waving through the air. I can catch hints of their conversation – "…jumped in the way…missed her head…" – but it's not enough to tell what happened.

Crouching by the makeshift stretcher, I yank my gauntlet off. I touch her face and find it cold. Oh, please…Talos, Akatosh, whoever's listening, don't let this be the end of her charmed life.

"…almost lost a man to the scamps following the blood, but we got her out."

"A brave thing, Captain."

Burd's teeth flash white in his ashen face. "Brave, hell. Do you know what would happen if we'd let the hero of Kvatch die in there?" His grim smile slips away as fast as it came. "You've got a healer, right? Cirroc's swamped. Got a man who lost a leg to those scamps, and there's more'n that. We stopped the bleeding, but…"

"What's going on? Let me through this instant!" I almost jump out of my armor when Martin's voice rings out, and if I wasn't so worried, I'd laugh. It's like watching a herd of sheep when the shepherd comes. The Blades scatter right and left, and he almost runs down the little corridor we make.

The look on his face smothers any last thought of laughter. He's pale, thin-lipped. His eyes are like ice. Good Gods. He's angry. Furious. His hands touch her cheek, her lips, and then drop to the hem of her tunic. His fingers dig into the cloth and in one sharp motion, he tears it. The rip disappears under the cloth tied around her waist, and reappears just under her breasts.

"I need water and clean cloth." He's rolling up his sleeves, eyes fixed on her face. Through the whole thing, she doesn't respond. It's horrible to see her like this. She's normally all but bouncing off the walls. She even tosses and turns in her sleep. I've never seen her still this long. "Baurus, help me get her inside. My room."

"Martin - "

He sends a sharp glance at Jauffre and repeats, "My room. _Now._ Tear the sheets off the bed if it worries you, but I'm making sure she's comfortable."

"Yes…your Majesty."

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Somehow we get her into the Temple and out of the stretcher. Somehow I get my armor off and wash my hands. Martin is telling me things about 'irrigating the wound' while pulling bits of rusty metal and chainmail rings out of her. All I can do is stand there and hold things. Blood-soaked cloth. A bowl of water. Bandages. Needle and thread. More bandages.

I've never seen his Majesty like this. I think he must be as terrified as I am. He's even talking to her, though she's out like a candle flame. "It's all right," he's whispering, stroking her face. "I'll heal you up. You like that, don't you? Honey rather than vinegar? That's right. You're going to be all right."

When he finally steps back to look out the window, I'm shocked to see that the daylight is gone. Where did the hours go? I don't even know what time it is. My whole body is one stiff ache, pain pinching at the corners of my eyes.

But she looks better. There's some color in her cheeks now. She looks like she's sleeping, not dead. Martin pulls the blankets up to her chin, covering her, and I realize she's been naked through all of this. A belated flush heats my face, but I figure that if it doesn't embarrass the priest, I'm probably okay.

With a tired smile, he claps me on the shoulder, leaving a damp handprint. Gods, I hope that's water. "What do you think of a healer's life, Baurus?"

"I think I never want to be one. Ever. And I think I'm going to sneak off to Bruma for a stiff drink."

"If you do, sneak one back for me, please."

I eye him, trying to decide if he's pulling my leg. "Seriously, your Majesty?"

"Mm? Oh, yes. Just because I've been a priest, doesn't mean I was Akatosh Incarnate in my youth. You'd be surprised what I got up to back then."

Holding up my hands, I can't help but chuckle. "That's one of those 'Emperor's secrets' I don't think I really want to hear about, your Majesty. If you don't mind."

"Probably for the best, yes." As I start cleaning up some of the mess, he walks in circles around the room, rubbing his chin. Gods bless him, the man has as much energy as the girl does once you get him going. We're both shaky with adrenaline, trying to burn it off before the crash, but he's all but pinging off the walls. Or maybe it just looks like it, since I've never seen him without a book or quill in his hand.

"Baurus?" When I look up, he smiles again. "I think saving her life is enough to even things out, don't you?"

"I – what?"

"For your punishment."

Huh. I'd almost forgotten about that. "Oh, but I didn't save her, you Majesty," I protest. "You did. I just helped you. I…I don't think I should get off that easy."

"Really?" He stops by the bed, reaching out to touch the girl's cheek again. "Look at it this way, Baurus. Emperor Uriel – my father – he was certain his death was the Gods' will, wasn't he? I'm just as certain that her presence here is their will as well. Both Uriel's death and this young woman's life – you've served as the hand of the Gods, haven't you?" When his eyes flick up to mine, something burns deep inside of them. Something I hadn't seen before. "That, Baurus, is often punishment enough."

"You're still the one who saved her," I insist. This sort of talk always makes me uncomfortable. It's worse with him – I think he might actually be right. He's something else. He really is.

He smiles, a little lopsided, a little haughty, just like his father, and repeats his earlier words. "No one else is going to die for me."

There's that 'else' again.

Then I realize what he's saying and it punches me in the stomach hard enough to make my ears ring. Who died for him before and whose deaths he's probably remembering every day. And dealing with. And not breaking down into a million pieces even though he knew them all so much better than all of us.

Kvatch.

_Dammit, I'm such an idiot!_


	9. Wounds

Gods…I hurt.

I'm in a bed. A big one. And so, so soft. And I hurt.

What happened?

The Gate. The Tower. I went into another gate. Why? I'd just been through with so many. I was coming back to the Temple, after going all over Cyrodiil. I was going to tell Martin about Ocato and all of the counts and countesses. He has to know, right?

I was going to tell him Bravil's was a bigger bum than my father ever was. I'd almost shoved Cheydinhal's heir into a pit of lava. I wanted to say Anvil and Chorrol only had countesses like Narina, and they didn't need men to rule, good on them. I wanted to say Leyawiin's count was the weasliest little fellow, and his wife gave me the creeps. I wanted to tell him that even with everything still going on, Savlian sent one of his men and his regards, and I hope they make him the count because he's amazing. And I wanted to tell him Skingrad's count was a vampire! But a nice one. A gentleman. He smiled at me. Me! I told him I was sorry I killed those other vampires for Azura. He explained that those were quite different vampires, and I could kill all of those I wanted. Just not him, if you please.

I went through all the gates, but it was worth it, because it was for him. I'd not have done it for anyone else. He'll be safe now. He'll be proud of me, and I won't be as scared.

Back at the Temple, though, Jauffre stops me at the door. There's an Oblivion gate right outside the city, he says. I tell him _that's_ a big surprise. He wants me to close it. That's not a big surprise either. I'm starting to wonder what we have the Mages Guild, and the Guard, and the Fighter's Guild and the Legion for, if one little thief has to close all these gates. And why is everyone so worried if all it takes is me?

But this time, I have someone else. Not like at Cheydinhal. Thank the Gods. I was leading someone useful…the guard. We follow you, ma'am, one of them says. The really tall one. The captain…Burd. I laugh. I'm not a ma'am. I'm someone who follows. But they follow me. I made sure to point out the roots, the ones that try to bite. One of them is hit anyway. I scold him, and healed him. The spell comes easily. Martin would be proud. I should show him. How long ago was this? I remember and dream at the same time. Nightmares.

The tower is taller than I remembered. The Daedra are stronger. Mehrunes Dagon's taking no chances this close to Martin. Damn Him. I won't let Him. I hate the slick walls. They reminded me of the book, the way they seem to be breathing. Or pulsing. Like the great bloody guts of some horrible creature. I turned the corner and the Dremora attacks. It lunges at me, but Burd managed to run it through. So why do I feel like this? I wasn't the one stabbed. No, wait. I remember the spines in the wall. They stab out – I tried to shove one of the guards out of the way. Imagine. Me, saving a guard! I'd laugh if I didn't hurt like this. I remember blazing pain in my side. Gods, what an idiot I was! This wouldn't have happened if I'd been alone.

Burd must have gotten us out, somehow. I hope the gate is closed. It should be. I told him about the Stone. Captains are smart. And I'm lying in a bed, not in Oblivion. And I know I'm not dreaming. I hurt too much.

I try to raise my head. Flashing lights fill my vision, and I make a strange, squeaking noise before falling back again.

"Don't tense your muscles." It's his voice. I must be in Cloud Ruler Temple. He's here with me. Thank the Gods. Thank every single one of Them. "The chapel healers tended your wounds as best they could. You lost a lot of blood though, and you have a lot of bruising. It will take some time before you feel like yourself again."

"How l-long ago…?"

"Only a few days. Captain Burd tells us you were quite the hero, jumping into that trap like that. Little idiot." He sounds annoyed. I don't blame him. I'm pretty mad at myself, too.

"G-gate?"

"Closed, despite your injury."

"W-why do I s-s-still hurt…?" My lips are cracked. My throat is raw, and I start to cough. Pain stabs through my side again. I curl up, tears leaking from my eyes. I feel fingers on my throat, and the blue light soothes me more than water ever could. The fingers leave before I can look up.

His voice is all business, his eyes sharp. "You bled internally – inside your own body. The blood caused pressure on your vitals. Until your body reabsorbs the blood, and until the bruising fades, you will hurt. Magic can only do so much. I…agreed to keep an eye on you until then." His voice softens a little. "If you feel the pain is too much to bear, tell me, and I will try to soothe it."

"T-thank you." I lean back again, and look around. I'm in his room, not in the barracks. He's moved his books in here. For me. Jauffre must be having kittens, poor man. I wonder if he said something to Martin, too. Probably. But he's right, as much as it galls me to admit it. There's a wall there. It shouldn't be crossed. Ever.

It's not fair. The other Blades would be allowed to.

Martin brushes my hair out of my face with a gentle hand. I guess he's done with the lecture. "You're crazy, did you know that? If you had died…" He trails off, frowning.

I grin, even though it hurts. "You could always find another crazy girl."

"No…" he looks at me oddly. "I don't think I could." Then he smiles and sits next to me on the bed. "So, tell me where you've been."

He starts playing with my hair as I tell him what's been going on around the province. It makes it a little hard to concentrate. He's surprised when he finds out the count of Skingrad is a vampire. He laughs when I tell him about Cheydinhal's heir yelling "Huzzah!" while running away from Scamps. A shadow passes over his face when I tell him Kvatch is still in ruins, and they all miss him. His eyes close.

"Martin? Martin, what's wrong?" I ask, but I already know the answer. He's tired. He's homesick. He always is. They want too much from him. I lift my hands to hold his against the side of my face. "Can I do anything to help?"

He looks down at me. His smile isn't reaching his eyes. "You're injured. What can you do?"

His words hurt a little, but I don't want to see him sad. "Anything. I'll do anything."

"Anything…" His finger twitch against my face. He leans forward…then stops himself, shaking his head. "No. Not while you're injured."

"But…!"

"I said no." There's a flash of light at the corner of my eyes and suddenly I can't keep them open. The magic seems to pull something from me, leaving me empty and exhausted. From a distance, I hear Martin saying, "You're going to sleep now. Before anything happens."

"'m gonna get you for this…"

I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be waiting."

I spend time drifting in and out of sleep. Every time I wake up, I feel a little bit better, even though my head still pounds. Sometimes I dream about the Tower and I wake up crying. Martin holds my hand until I fall asleep again. I wonder how he can sleep after Kvatch. He's so strong.

At one point I open my eyes to see a man I don't recognize. He's leaning over me, and poking me in the ribs. A brief tingle of magic fills me. It's empty – not like Martin's. I feel nothing.

He stands, and pulls at the cuffs of the green velvet coat he's wearing. "She's doing just fine. She's healed quite a lot for only three days. The Blades have a talented healer in you."

I hear Martin chuckle. "You flatter me. I'm afraid Restoration isn't really my strength."

"Nonsense. You're quite good. Ah…you mentioned you studied under Oleta, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, that would give anyone an inferiority complex. She's the best I've ever seen – even better than those old wizards off in their University."

I try to lift my head, to tell him Martin used to be one of those wizards, to not talk down on them, but my body won't move. Maybe I'm dreaming again. I must be – my eyes are closed. When did I close them? I force them open again. All I can really see is Martin's back, though.

"Perhaps. But to be honest, my strength is in Conjuration."

"Do tell! So is mine! Perhaps we can compare notes sometime. It would be wonderful to speak to a fellow Conjurer and priest. Honestly, it's so difficult to find someone who isn't out actively worshiping Daedra or the like."

A warmth trickles through me. I know a secret this man doesn't. A secret about Martin. I don't think this man even knows he's the Emperor. How stupid. I'd tell him, but not without Martin's permission. It wouldn't be right.

The strange man is still talking. "Some of them actually come to _me_ to learn, can you just imagine? It all I can do to keep them away from the townsfolk. Oh, the ones from Azura's shine aren't too bad – but the rest of them… Molag Bal's, for one. Terrifying folk. Then there was this pair who claimed to be Sanguine's worshippers. Seemed perfectly normal, but – " I actually hear him shudder, "the _things_ they did. Not to mention where they did them. Worse than Dibella. I had to completely purify the – "

Sanguine – that's the Prince Martin mentioned, wasn't it? It couldn't be, could it? He wouldn't do things like that…would he? Is this why Jauffre told me to be careful?

He's lying. He has to be. Right? Right?

Martin has his hands clasped behind his back, and I can see they've gone white-knuckled. But from what I can see from his face, he looks completely calm. He'll just _let_ this man go on about things he knows nothing about. I won't, though.

I pretend I'm waking up like I have the last few times, upset from bad dreams. Trying to make myself move, I sit up a little too fast and I don't have to fake my yelp. The strange man recoils. Martin's at my side, and his eyes say he knows what I did.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

I point at the man. "Who's he? Why is he here?"

The man takes a step forward. "Now, now, child. I am here to help heal y– "

"Martin's already here," I tell him. "There's no reason for you to be."

The man looks insulted and Martin turns to whisper something in his ear. He nods and, with one last glare at me, walks out of the room. Once the door closes, Martin crosses his arms, looking at me like I'm a disobedient child. "How long have you been awake?"

I open my mouth to lie, but I can't. Not to him. "Since his clumsy fingers jabbed me in the ribs. I don't need another healer, just you. I'm feeling just fine, and he had nothing to do with it."

His lips twitch in an almost-smile. "Jauffre had hoped Arentus could take over the healing duties so I could get back to translating, but I see now it's a lost cause. I'll have to tell him you're being difficult."

"I didn't like him."

"I could tell."

"He was being rude to you."

The almost-smile twists oddly. "He didn't say anything that wasn't likely true."

I lie back down to consider his words. True or not, it doesn't matter. But it still worries me. I think I need to know who Sanguine is. I think it's important. But how do I find out? I can't just ask anyone, obviously. Especially not Martin. He might guess what I'm up to. I'll have to look through the library. It'll be in there, right?

Right. I tell Martin I want to get up and walk around. Maybe get something to eat. He frowns, but says it's probably a good idea. As long as I come back if I get tired. I will.

My legs are a little wobbly after everything. And the pain is still there. Even lessened, it makes me woozy. When I stumble, walking out of the room, I feel Martin's gaze on my back. Captain Stefan follows me. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised.

I pretend I'm curious about Mehrunes Dagon. Jauffre praises me for wanting to learn about my enemy. Knowing your enemy is the first step to victory. He shows me where I should be looking for the books I want. I feel bad for lying to him, but I don't want to tell the truth either. Not after he was so worried. And if he doesn't know about the Emperor's heir worshipping Daedra, I'm surely not going to be the one to tell him.

Reading is harder than I remember it being. Jauffre says it's probably from hitting my head after I was wounded. He says it'll heal up soon. I hope so. Still…the words seem to slip and slide around each other on the page. I have to read very slowly, and only a few sentences at a time. My eyes ache and start to run. I curse and rub at them and I have to put the book down.

When I look up, Martin's crouching in front of me. "Are you all right?" He hooks his finger under my chin, looking carefully into my eyes.

Luckily, I'm already so red and blotchy from the tears that he doesn't notice my blush. I point at the book. "I'm just trying to read, but my head hurts. It makes my eyes water."

Far from calming him, the explanation seems to make him eyen more worried. He tilts my head back again and looks into one eye, and then the other. "Concussion," he says, like the word is supposed to explain anything.

"Same to you," I mutter.

"You hit your head very hard."

"Oh. That's what Jauffre said. He told me I'll get better soon and not to worry."

"Did he?" His voice takes on a cold note when he glances over at the old man. Jauffre doesn't notice. "And I've just been letting you sleep. That may explain a few things. Come with me." He carefully slides his hands under my forearms and lifts me to my feet. I wobble and his frown gets deeper.

"My book – "

He picks it up and glances at the title. His eyebrows go up. "Interesting choice."

"…wanted to learn about Dagon." My mumbled excuse sounds unbelievable now, but he only nods and tucks the book under his arm. I don't think he believes me. He can look right through me.

He doesn't let go of me until I'm back in bed. The book is gently lobbed to the side, and I hear him muttering about incompetent Bruma healers and idiot Conjurers as he rolls up his sleeves. From the sound of it, at least half of it's directed at himself. His hands rest on either side of my head, lacing through my hair. He still looks mad. His jaw is clenched tightly but his hands might as well not be there, he's touching me so lightly.

"This may feel a little strange," he warns me just before he starts to cast. The magic comes in gentle pulses and I feel like fingers are brushing across the inside of my head. The world seems to be a little clearer now, though.

I twitch. "That tickles."

"I'm not surprised. Try to not move too much."

I can do that. I'm good at not moving – comes from being a thief.

Guilt stabs through me. That's right. I'd forgotten that I shouldn't be here. But Martin doesn't seem to mind. Maybe…maybe Jauffre didn't tell him? I should leave well enough alone. No, I should ask. It's only fair. If I'm prying into his life, reading books and asking questions, I should tell him about mine. I'd bet gold Jauffre's already told him, though.

"Did Jauffre tell you?" I ask. My voice tries to hide halfway through.

"Tell me what?"

"What I am."

He doesn't blink or flinch. His eyes stay fixed on mine. "Yes."

"Don't you care?"

Now he looks surprised. He stops casting. His hands fall to my shoulders, and he's silent for a moment. "Should I?"

I can't meet his eyes anymore. "I – I don't know. Jauffre said I shouldn't try. I'm too common. I'm not good enough. I'm just a thief."

He stares at me and starts to laugh, ragged and bitter. His hands tighten on my shoulders, almost enough to bruise before he pulls away and clenches them into fists.

He's angry. I said something wrong. I reach out, but pull back before I can touch him. I'll only make it worse, won't I?

He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. The light burning in the depths snaps furiously. "Gods! He said that? And you think I'm like that? I was raised to be a farmer, not an emperor. You think I would care about such things?"

"Shouldn't you? That's what being a noble is! Being with your own kind."

His mouth twists. "My kind. I doubt they would allow 'my kind' into the Palace."

_Sanguine._

The scent of blood reaches my nose. His nails bit into his palm. I can't help myself this time – I take his hand in mine. His fist relaxes and I can see two little crescents of blood. I can fix it. I'll show him I can heal now. Raising my hand, I start to cast.

"Stop." His voice is soft, but I can't keep myself from obeying him. "Clean it."

"I don't have any water," I protest.

"Then think of something else."

Something else? Not his sheets. Maybe the hem of the bedclothes I'm wearing, or…

The memory of what happened after Azura's Star flashes though my mind. I could do that. Something like that, at least.

I lift his hand to my mouth and pause. I look up at him for some kind of signal. But he just returns my gaze, expressionless. Praying I'm doing the right thing, I start to lick away the blood.

It's funny. The Septim blood doesn't taste any different than mine when I bite my lip. From the way Jauffre talks, I expected it to be something special. But it's just the same rusty-iron taste. His hands are just as rough as mine. He has a scar just under his fingers, faded with age. It looks like an old burn. Maybe from when he was in the Mages Guild?

I taste it. It's smooth against my lips.

His fingers cup my chin and pull my head up. He has that look in his eyes again – the kind of self-satisfaction that a priest shouldn't feel, deep and sure of _everything_.

_Sanguine,_ my mind whispers.

This time, I don't resist when his thumb traces my lip. When the not-quite-healed split opens again, and I can taste my own blood on top of his. The pain is distant compared to the rest, yet somehow sharp and sweet. He pulls me forward and his mouth is on mine, and I know that he can taste the two of us on my tongue.

When he pushes me back, and presses me to the bed, I ache. His body is heavy and hard and mine is the only cushion I have. He pulls back a little, giving me relief, and then presses me down again, letting the pain go in waves. I'm starting to understand. A strange noise, not quite a moan, full of pleading, fills my ears. Oh Gods – is that me?

At the sound, he moves again and I'm aware of a new hardness and a different ache. _Oh Gods… I want…no…it's not like that_… My hips move against my will, reaching up for him. His mouth hasn't left mine. _He didn't lock the door. What if someone comes in? What if Jauffre…? I…I don't care. I want…_ When he breaks the kiss and buries his face in my shoulder and shudders from head to toe…I can do nothing but _want._

But he pulls away instead and I almost scream.

I know I would if he didn't look so disheveled and annoyed, and his breath wasn't low and fast and warm on my face. He brushes at hair stuck damply to his skin, looking down at me ruefully. "I didn't mean to go so far yet." _Yet._ I latch onto the word with desperate hope. "You are still too fragile."

I stare up at him, frustration and desire vying for attention. Without his body against mine, I feel cold as sweat dries on my skin. I want him back. I want that wonderful feeling of being surrounded and protected and…yes…mastered. The emptiness hurts. Is he playing with me after all? No, he's concerned. Of all the times for him to go thoughtful on me.

He runs a finger over my lips and it comes away reddened. He seems lost in thought as he lifts it to his own lips and licks it clean. "And you're not ready…are you? Do you believe Jauffre? Will you follow his orders instead of mine?" He stands and crosses his arms. "Well?"

"What? I – _what?_" My mind can't quite follow him. Even if I knew what to say, I wouldn't be able to get it out. My mouth is too dry, and every muscle feels like jelly. The ache – the old ache – is coming back. Dammit. If I could move right, I'd hit him.

He leans down and I find myself feeling like I'm being drawn into his eyes. He's not annoyed any more, he's not lost in thought, and he's not expressionless. I can't find a word to fit with the look he gives me. But the next thing he says shocks me to the core.

"Until you are ready, I don't want you."

My jaw drops. _That does it. I'm going to hit him._

Unfortunately, by the time I get myself untangled from the sheets he's back at the table, out of my reach. And, as another jab of pain shoots up my side, I decide standing up is too much work.

Instead, I watch him read, my pulse and breath pounding in my ears. His fingers slowly move down the pages. Every once in a while, he stops and writes something on a piece of parchment by his elbow. Read. Write. Read. It nearly lulls me to sleep. Suddenly, the quill comes to a slow stop. He's looking at me. He's noticed me watching. I feel my cheeks go warm when he raises his eyebrows at me. Is it a question, or an invitation?

A dare?

I hold out my hand. "Hurt."

He closes his book, and walks across the room to take my hand. He runs his thumbs back and forth over my knuckles, looking thoughtful. I don't want to hit him anymore. "Don't you mean 'heal'?"

To hell with the wall. "Both."

"I see." The blue light fills me again.


End file.
